


Finding Family

by WhoStarLocked



Series: Adoption AU [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Adoption, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Has Issues, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Feels, Hurt Clint Barton, Kid Bruce Banner, Kid Clint Barton, Kid Fic, Kid Natasha Romanov, Kid Thor (Marvel), M/M, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Team as Family, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-20 03:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoStarLocked/pseuds/WhoStarLocked
Summary: Steve Rogers and Tony Stark are the couple turned adoptive parents that social workers Phil Coulson, Maria Hill, and Nick Fury turn to when a kid can't be placed anywhere else. It usually works out okay, but sometimes it takes a while to get there, even for them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all,
> 
> First of all, this fic has fairly detailed depictions of past abuse of a child - I stress that this happens off-screen, but be careful if this is triggering!  
> Secondly, I have no actual knowledge of adoption or how this works, so forgive any technical errors I may have made.  
> Lastly, please note that I don't necessarily condone all the approaches to parenting that you find in this fic, but if I made them perfect parents, there wouldn't be a story. 
> 
> Thank you

10th June

It was early June, which meant it was only just dropping dark when over-stressed, under-paid social worker Phil Coulson cut his car engine with a heavy sigh. For a few minutes, he just rested his head against the backs of his hands that were still clutching the wheel. The file to his right... he didn't want to think about what could happen if this went wrong.

Sometimes his job was rewarding; seeing kids finally find happiness with parents who doted on them and loved them no matter what was beautiful any day, and knowing that you played a part in getting them there was purely the best feeling, Phil thought. Then on the other hand, there were the problem cases, the kids that society deem as unlovable. The ones that almost inevitably drove Phil, or his co-worker, Maria Hill, or his boss, Nick Fury, to this door.

Almost as if sensing his stress - and at this point, Phil would quite honestly believe that they could - Steve Rogers and his husband of seven years appeared on their doorstep, watching him with faint smiles. With a nervous swallow, Phil gathered the file to his right and stepped out of the car, clutching the file in front of him like a shield.

"Let me guess," Stark Industries' CEO and loving foster father Tony Stark began, watching Phil with amused eyes. "They've got a speech impediment, and no-one else will adopt them."

Phil smiled nervously. Tony and Steve had already adopted three 'problem cases' from him.

"I wish it was that simple." Phil muttered as they let him into the house. "This might go down better with a cup of coffee." Steve's eyebrows rose as he walked into the kitchen to pour some coffee into three mugs. Tony gestured him to sit. “This boy..." Phil didn’t know where to begin. "He... he's a little... different... to the others."

Steve frowned as he sat down next to his husband. "In what way?"

"His parents died in a car crash. He was six. We believe he and his older brother ran away before they could be put into care. We found _him_ ," Phil explained as he handed them the file. "But not his brother, five months later in a circus. So he was brought in."

Phil paused and gulped down the much-needed warm coffee Steve pushed in his direction.

"He was with his second foster family and uh... well, _he_ says they were abusing him, and personally I'm inclined to agree, but... anyway, he stole a gun and ran away from the family home. He’d been gone for five hours when the police and the foster father found him."

Steve and Tony looked suitably shocked. Phil grimaced into his coffee. There was no way to prepare them for this, no way to soften the blow, and this would make or break the child's life. Sometimes, Phil really, really hated his job.

"A gun in the hands of a terrified seven year old? I think we can all guess how that ended. There was a lot of talking, but they made a move towards him, and he shot the foster father _and_ a policeman. The officer was paralysed. The foster father... well... he has... life-altering injuries." Phil pointed to a section in the file that detailed the injuries sustained. If that man ever wanted children in the future, the boy had ensured they would have to be adopted.

"Oh my god!" Tony exclaimed softly, and could Phil blame him? Tony turned to look at Steve, panic clear on his face. Phil knew he was losing them.

 "Look, _please_!" He leant over the table, trying to meet their eyes. "You're his last chance at a decent life!" he said, and _damn it if I sounded desperate, I am_ , Phil thought. "They've given him five months to integrate and show that he's sorry, or they'll lock him up in a mental institute and throw away the key!"

Steve blinked down at the file. Tony ran a hand through his hair, making it stand in all directions.

"Jeez, Phil, that's... a lot to... Do you really think we can do this?" Tony asked, pointing at the file in front of him.

"I know it's a huge ask." Phil admitted. "But you guys are literally his last shot. He's already been to five foster homes between then and now, and if we can't get him permanent care by the 15th, that's it. They'll lock him up."

The couple shared a glance, and Phil knew it was a losing battle. It always had been a losing battle. He sighed. "I understand completely if you don't want to... I'm not trying to pressure you into anything."

"Well, you are," Tony pointed out with a grin.

Phil returned it shyly. "Yeah, it's just that... I really don't think he's a bad kid."

Before Tony could reply, Steve cut in. "When can you bring him?"

Tony glanced at his partner. "Sorry, what?"

"We can't leave him to be locked up, Tony!" Steve insisted.

"Yeah but-"

 "But what? Tony!" He scalded.

"What about the others?" Steve paused, watching his partner for a moment, before shifting his gaze to the staircase.

"Guys! Come down here!" He yelled.

There were three sets of steps on the stairs, and - too quickly for them to have been at the top of the stairs - the kids appeared in the kitchen.

"Hey Phil," Bruce smiled softly.

"Bruce," Phil nodded at him. Bruce had been the second child Steve and Tony had taken off Phil’s hands. He was probably one of the best kids anyone could hope for, aside from the anger issues that stemmed from the abusiveness of his father. Steve and Tony had seen that goodness in him, and had nurtured it carefully. It was why they always got asked to take the problem cases.

"Guys, we're thinking about fostering a young boy, he's only seven, an-"

"We heard, Steve." Natasha, their youngest and newest adoptee replied in a bored tone. There was nothing bad about Natasha, per se, she was a well behaved – if sometimes slightly manipulative – young woman, but no one else had wanted to take the time to help the poor girl speak English after being dumped in the states. She had come all the way from Russia, alone and grieving, only to be constantly brought back to an orphanage where no one had time for her, either.

Until Steve and Tony had stepped in.

"Fine, if you all heard, what do you think? Would you be okay with it?" Steve asked, watching them all with a micro-frown only parents could perfect. The 'especially after what happened' remained unsaid.

Bruce shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not any worse than what I did," he said, his tone slightly tinged by bitterness.

“Bruce," Tony protested, like he did every time his foster son beat himself up.

"Twenty people in the hospital because of me. Twenty. And, really? A terrified seven year old with a gun? What did they think was going to happen? Besides, sounds a bit like one of them deserved it."

You two?" Steve asked with a small smile, looking at Thor and Nat.

Thor shrugged widely. "You know I don't mind."

Thor had simply been too old. Most people wanted a child too young to remember their real parents, but Thor had already been past that age, so he was picked over and always left. Phil had eventually despaired, and had told Thor to expect to stay in the orphanage until he was eighteen. When Thor had dully told Phil that he knew that already, Phil’s heart had broken a little bit, and he had put out an ad for foster parents who would take an older child. Steve had replied to that advert, and Thor, nor Steve, and especially not Phil, had ever looked back. Thor was fifteen now. Bruce was a year younger. Natasha had turned eleven in March.

 "Wouldn't mind not being the youngest," Nat grinned.

Steve smiled, satisfied, and turned to look at Tony.

"Fine," Tony huffed, folding his arms over his chest. "But if this goes badly..."

Steve smiled. "Something tells me it won't."

He quite possibly lived to regret those words.

* * *

12th June

Phil watched anxiously as the seven year old shouldered his bag, shifting his weight while they waited for Tony to open the door. When it finally swung open to reveal a hassled-looking Tony and a blushing, dishevelled Steve, the boy didn’t react.

Clint stared sullenly at them as Phil herded him up the stairs. His eyes were flat, spark-less in a way that even Phil – with his extensive experience in dealing with traumatised children – had never seen. The psychologists that had swarmed around Clint like flies for days after the incident said it was probably guilt. Though he didn’t say anything, Phil liked to think he knew better. He knew Clint didn’t feel the least bit guilty, anyway. That was part of why he was going to be stuck in a mental asylum if this didn’t work out.

"Clint," Phil said, his tone annoyingly false and bright even to his own ears. "'I'd like you to meet your new foster parents, Steve and Tony."

There was no reaction. He just stared at them with those dull, dull, grey eyes. When it became apparent he wasn’t going to speak, Steve took over expertly. He moved slightly back into the house, so that Clint could get in. He didn’t move. He just stared at them, like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

Steve didn’t really blame him. He knew from talking to his three other children that being shoved into homes that didn’t really want you was enough to make the most confident child hide away. This boy was only seven, and hadn’t been too out-going in the first place. Given that, how could anyone blame him?

* * *

“Well, Clint, this is gonna be your room.” Steve said, giving what he hoped was an encouraging smile. The kid’s eyes never left his face. He merely blinked. “We’ll leave you to unpack. Um, just call us if you need anything, okay?” Steve knew as he walked out that it was unlikely that Clint would call them for anything, but it was better to let him know anyway. When he got downstairs, Tony handed him a cup of coffee, which he took gratefully.

“So, how’s he?” Tony asked, his voice strangely neutral.

“He’s unpacking. He hasn’t spoken yet though. I’m slightly worried we’re not making him feel welcome.” Steve admitted, a frown beginning to crease his forehead.

“Or maybe it’s because-” Tony began

“Don’t even say it, Tony.” His husband sighed. “There’s no way anyone could blame him for that. I mean, how would you like to be promised that everything would get better, and then get shoved in a home where you got abused _again_?” Steve asked, turning to look at Tony.

“I’m not saying I blame him!” Tony retorted. “I just think we should be cautious, if _that’s_ how far he’s willing to go to get out of a home he’s not happy in.”

Steve frowned at his partner. “He wasn’t just unhappy there. He was being _abused_ -”

“So _he_ says.”  Steve’s expression melded into shock as the genius interrupted him.

“Tony!” He cried. “Why would he lie about something like that? That’s just… That’s horrible, Tony!”

Tony raised his hands in defense. “I’m not saying he lied, I’m just pointing out what Phil did! Phil said that no-one else believed he was being abused there.”

“No, he didn’t!” Steve insisted.

“He implied it.” Tony returned with an eye roll. There was a stunned silence for a moment. Steve deflated slightly in his chair.

“Well, I believe him. And I’m going to make sure he’s happy here.” He said after a while. There was such determination in his voice that Tony sighed, feeling a momentary pang of guilt for making his husband upset.

“Of course we will.” He said gently, and watched with a fond smile and worried eyes as Steve left to go check on Clint. “If you won’t worry about how dangerous this is, I’ll just have to do it for both of us.” He muttered to himself once Steve was out of earshot.

* * *

Clint kept up his sullen silence for the rest of the morning. When it reached twelve, Tony cooked them some omelettes. He called up the stairs once they were ready; then moved back into the kitchen.

“So…” He murmured, his back to Steve as he scoured the fridge for a beer. “Settlin’ in?” He asked, prize grasped in his hand as he turned to the table. His husband sat down with a heavy sigh next to him and began absently pushing food round on his plate.

“He’s crying.” He admitted quietly. “He’s sat there in his room, crying.” He met Tony’s eyes.

Tony frowned. “You didn’t go in, did you?” He asked as he ate.

“No,” Steve replied. “I didn’t want to intrude.” He sighed and finally took a bite out of his omelette. “I just want to make this work for him! No one deserves to be locked up for the rest of their lives when they’re seven.”  He lamented once he’d swallowed.

“Steve, it’ll be fine.” Tony smiled gently. “He’ll settle. And if it isn’t fine…” He took one of Steve’s hands in his and rubbed his knuckles softly. “Then, we tried.” Steve smiled gently and clasped his hand together with Tony’s.

“Yeah,” He smiled.

They waited in silence for an hour and a half. Clint never made an appearance.

* * *

“This isn’t going to work.” Tony murmured, one hand scrubbing the lower half of his face in thought.

“I’m not giving up on him.” Steve replied neutrally from an armchair somewhere behind him.

“Not the kid,” Tony sighed. “This!” He shook the blueprints he was holding for emphasis.

“‘The kid’ has a name, Tony. Seeing as he’s staying here you might as well use it.” His husband said sternly.

“I’ll call him what I want to. I called all of them ‘kid’. Never used to bother you.” He pointed out with a pout. A glance over his shoulder told him that Steve wasn’t impressed.

“You know, sometimes you can be an absolute asshole.” Tony rolled his eyes at the criticism.

“Just because I happen to be thinking of our safety-”

“That’s a first.” Steve cut in dryly.

Tony sighed. “Why can’t you _see_ this?” He asked. “Why don’t you get how dangerous this is? That kid,” He continued, pointing up the stairs. “Is dangerous. Do I have to spell it out for you? Come on! He’s not exactly trying to make this work, is he? He’s sitting upstairs ignoring us. Historically-”

“The best way to keep from getting hurt: Don’t get involved in the first place!” Steve interrupted. “Why can’t _you_ see _that_?  This is his eighth foster home – ninth if you include the circus – in a year! He’s probably sick of trying to integrate, trying to settle in, to bond. And every time he’s had it thrown back in his face.” Steve glared. “How would _you_ like it?”

“I’m not saying his circumstances aren’t tragic-”

“You just won’t go out on a limb for him.” Steve spat, turning back to his book. “He’s staying, Tony. I don’t care if you’re scared of him, _I’m_ not. And I’m going to make him happy here, and give him the childhood he deserves.” He flicked to the next page of his book. “Whether or not you want to be a part of that is your problem.”

Tony sighed in frustration and shut himself in his lab.


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha sighed as she and her adoptive brothers turned up the sandy driveway to their home. _Home._ It still felt strange to her, having somewhere she could come back to and never have to leave. She liked it. With a fond smile on her face, she continued walking behind Bruce and Thor, looking at the place she’d come to think of as somewhere she could belong. A year ago, she would have laughed in the face of anyone who’d told her she could belong anywhere in the US.

A sudden movement caught her eye and she stopped short, glaring furiously around her. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the house. There had been a movement, she was sure.

“Natasha?” Thor’s voice cut through her concentration. Natasha blinked and turned to look at her brothers. Judging by their concerned looks, it wasn’t the first time they’d called her.

“I thought…” She felt herself blush at her ludicrous-sounding answer. “I thought I saw something on the roof.”

Bruce frowned and turned to look. Thor offered her a smile. “A trick of the light, perhaps?” He asked while they waited for her to catch up. She shrugged lightly.

“No, she’s right.” Bruce said, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun with one hand. “Look, the chimney has a distinct bulge.”

“So it does.” Thor agreed with a frown. “Come. Let’s go in. Perhaps Steve or Tony will know what it is.”

As it turned out, Steve and Tony were too busy fighting to notice their arrival, let alone anything wrong with the chimney. Natasha’s eyebrows rose at some of the not-so-child-appropriate language coming from her usually saint-like foster fathers.

“How the _fuck_ did you lose him?” Tony yelled into the living room, ignoring the kids stood in the doorway.

“I didn’t _just lose_ him. I went to check on him and he was gone!” Steve returned. He sounded hysterical. “ _You_ weren’t a great deal of help!”

“This mess has _fuck_ -all to do with me! _I_ was in my lab! How was it _my_ fault?”

“Help me find him!” Steve screamed from the kitchen. Tony rolled his eyes and walked off.

“Only you could fucking lose a child within a few hours of getting it.” He muttered as he left.

Natasha stayed frozen in the doorway. This was the first time Steve and Tony had fought. She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. Besides her, Bruce stirred.

“Wasn’t that boy coming today?”

Thor nodded, finally moving from the door and hanging his bag up. Natasha quickly followed suit and made her way further into the room.

“I would imagine, from their…” The blonde fifteen year old paused, frowning in thought. “…uncivil conversation, that they can’t find him.”

“Well, well. _Two_ mysteries to solve. A missing child and a quite-possibly-boy-shaped-bulge on our chimney. What _ever_ shall we do?” Bruce grinned sarcastically as he cleaned his glasses on his shirt.

Steve appeared in the hallway behind them. “Did you- Oh, hey guys! I didn’t hear you come in.” He smiled warmly at them, despite the panic clear in his eyes.

“Well, you wouldn’t have, over _that_ argument.” Bruce replied, putting his glasses back on. “And I thought _I_ had anger issues.” Steve blushed furiously.

“Well, Clint’s disappeared on us. I can’t find him anywhere, and Tony won’t help look.”

“Excuse _you_!” Tony’s voice floated down the hallway.

Thor shook his head. “Did you try the roof?”

Tony walked back in. “And how exactly, pray tell, would he get on the roof?” He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“He _was_ in a circus.” Natasha pointed out.

“So?”

“So, _acrobatic training_.” She replied. “Honestly, _I_ could get onto the roof with just my ballet training.”

“You’re not a midget.” Tony replied tersely. Natasha frowned. Her brothers loved teasing her about her small frame. This boy must be tiny.

“That’s beside the point.” Thor interrupted smoothly. “He’s missing, and there is a lump on the side of the chimney.” He said, staring pointedly at them both.

“How do you know it’s him?” Tony asked.

“Natasha saw him moving when we were walking up the drive.” Bruce said lightly.

Steve ran past them all for the stairs.

* * *

Sam knocked on the door out of habit. Steve and Tony had told him a million times not to bother, but he felt rude just barging in on them. Natasha swung the door open and gave him a bright smile as she moved to let him in.

“Hey,” She smiled at him. “Uncle Sam’s here!” She shouted down the hallway. Bruce and Thor looked up and muttered greetings when he walked in.

“What’re you boys studying now?”

“I’m just working on my science project.” Bruce said as he turned back to the work in front of him. Sam stepped carefully around him. No matter how well Bruce organised his notes, doing his homework seemed to entail taking over a good third of the floor space in the living room.

“I am revising for a math exam.” Thor grumbled, staring at an exam paper. Sam looked over his shoulder.

“Doesn’t look fun.” He grinned. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Gee, thanks.” Thor whispered. Sam smiled. All of their children seemed to have picked up Tony’s sarcasm after just a few weeks. The man was contagious.

“God, I don’t believe it. I actually recognise all of you!” Sam muttered as he glanced around the room.

“No, there’s another one, he’s just on the roof.” Natasha responded, not removing her gaze from the TV program she was watching.

“The roof? Why is he on the roof?”

Bruce shrugged and met Sam’s gaze. “Dunno. He was up there when we got home from school. I assume that it’s something to do with whatever they’re apologising to each other for.” Bruce explained, nodding at the kitchen. Sam could just make out Steve’s profile in the setting sun. He was holding his husband’s hand, shoulders hunched as if he’d been crying. Sam walked tentatively over to them. He’d never seen the couple fight before.

“Hey Sam,” Tony sighed, not moving his head from where it rested on Steve’s shoulder. Steve didn’t move either.

“A little spider says you managed to scare a kid onto your roof.” Tony turned to look at him.

“Yeah, and the little fucker won’t come back down, either.” He growled. Steve pulled away from him and sent his husband a withering glare. His face was splotchy red. So he _had_ been crying.

“He was scared.” He answered sharply. Tony rolled his eyes. Sam raised an eyebrow.

“You’re both idiots.” He said bluntly.

“Yeah, we know.” Steve sighed, giving him a watery smile.

“Ah good. As long as you know.” Sam deadpanned as he sauntered up the stairs and made his way to the third storey window. He could hear Tony’s indignant splutter from behind him. The window in front of him was open. He ducked his head out of the window, ignoring the rustling of Bruce’s clothes as he followed him up the stairs.

“Hey!” He called out. There was no one to see, even as he craned his neck to watch the chimney stack. “I’m Sam- an old army friend of Steve’s. Just thought I’d introduce myself, cos I’m round here pretty often. What’s your name?”

 A small head with close cropped blonde hair appeared from around the chimney stack. Big blue eyes blinked at him once, but the boy made no move to answer.

“Anyway, now you know what I look like, I’m going to go back down, cos it’s fuc-” Sam barely cut off the profanity in time. He cleared his throat. “Freezing up here. I don’t know how you’re still out.” The boy shivered, but didn’t move from his place. “I think there’ll be food soon. Tony better be cooking because, honestly, Steve is useless.”

 Bruce let out a soft snicker from behind him. “That’s true.” He grinned. “You remember the time with the grilled cheese and the-”

“Did that stain ever come off the ceiling?” Sam grinned.

“Nope.”

Sam shifted slightly and caught a glimpse of the boy moving slowly across the roof towards him. He pretended not to notice, only moved out of the window to talk to Bruce. After a few more minutes of casual conversation, the window shut with a thump behind him.

“Hey there you are!” He greeted with a warm smile, his eyes taking in the rake-thin frame of the boy with concern. “Let’s go see if there’s food.”

Once the kid – Sam made a mental note to try and learn his name – walked into the room, Steve flung himself around the table.

“Clint! Oh thank god you’re back inside!” He grabbed the tops of Clint’s arms, the boy’s shoulders dwarfed by his hands. “You’re freezing!” He declared. “Come here.” Steve gently shoved the boy towards the heater in the middle of the room.

The boy resisted, and Sam was immediately on edge.  Then as Steve, seemingly oblivious to the boy’s discomfort, placed him in front of the fire, he collapsed. Steve let out a confused yell as Clint slipped from his grasp and onto the floor.

There was another shout from the kitchen, and Tony rushed in with a knife grasped in both hands. Bruce jumped away from them, his eyes going wild. Thor’s eyes skittered over the scene as he slowly backed towards his younger brother.  Even from across the room Sam could hear his panicked breaths.

 He glanced across the room and saw Natasha watching everyone, looking mildly annoyed. The good thing about having a child previously raised by the Russian mafia: Natasha didn’t scare easily. At his glance, she moved across the room and helped him lift the scrawny – ridiculously malnourished, Sam noted – seven-year-old across the room. While Sam straightened and turned to see the rest of his friend’s family still panicking, Natasha gently slapped the boy’s face, trying to bring him around.

“Guys!” He yelled, bringing all the attention to himself. “Chill the _fucking_ fuck _out_!” He took a deep breath. “Christ!” he added, glaring at them all and silence descended.  Thor moved over to Bruce and hugged him tightly. It calmed them both down. Both Tony and Steve were watching as Clint’s eyes fluttered open. Natasha had, sensibly, moved out of the way.

The boy jumped up and scurried over to the corner of the room that put him furthest away from all of them. Sam began to re-evaluate the level of abuse the kid must’ve known. Clint’s eyes were blown wide, almost all the blue swallowed by the pupil, and his breathing was laboured. Panicked as he was, he had an unnerving focus on Steve, who still stood near the fire, and Tony, who still had the knife clasped in his hand, though not as tightly.

“Knock it off, you guys.” Sam said, glaring at them both.

“I’m not doing anything?” Steve replied; sounding completely bewildered as Tony placed the knife on the table with a guilty look. Sam nodded his approval as he turned back to Clint. With the threat from Tony apparently gone, he was now entirely fixated on Steve. Sam watched with a frown, but the boy’s attention never wavered, and his breathing didn’t calm down.

“I think it might be just that you’re standing by the fire, Steve.” Sam pointed out, watching the boy for any sign of relaxation.

“What?” His friend’s voice was small.

“Move.” Sam replied in a hard tone.

“Clint, why are you scared of the fire?” Steve asked quietly as he shifted to the centre of the room. Clint’s defensive stance relaxed slightly as he did so.

“I think it’s more you _next to_ the fire, than the fire itself.” Sam explained, sparing his friend a glance. He now bore a confused frown. Sam rolled his eyes. “Abusive parents?” He asked, and Steve nodded shakily. “Is it not possible that they burnt him a time or two?” He asked with a glare.

 Steve paled suddenly and moved further away from the fire, sending guilty glances towards Clint. Clint relaxed further, his breath slowing as the threat disappeared, but he still glanced at both of them constantly. Thor released Bruce, handed the knife to Tony and herded him back into the kitchen.

“I’m hungry. Cook!” He demanded, and with that, the tension in the room dissipated. Bruce moved back to his work, Nat perched lightly on the couch. Clint, realising he was in no danger, slid to the floor in the corner. He remained hunched, watching everyone. Sam eventually moved and sat down next to Natasha as Steve moved into the kitchen to help Tony. He sometimes wondered how this family would ever cope without him.

When the food was brought out, Nat skipped over to the table, a grin on her face. Sam turned to see Clint watching them all, still unmoving.

“You comin’ up here?” He asked, careful not to appear threatening. The boy’s only response was to shift his gaze to Sam. “You wanna eat down there?”

No response. Sam made a mental note to try and find some details of encouraging traumatised kids to talk. He shrugged, picking up the plate from the spare seat and setting it on the floor, halfway between the table and the corner where Clint sat. Tony glared at him, opening his mouth to protest as Sam sat down, but Bruce glared at him from across the table.

Sam tucked into his meal with the rest of them – he’d love to know where Tony learnt to cook – glancing at Clint from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t eating. Bruce frowned at his concerned expression, then turned. When he saw the untouched plate of food, he picked up his own plate and settled on the floor near Clint, pushing his food towards him.

Clint shifted away from him, watching him with wide eyes. Bruce merely shuffled further down the wall. The young boy relaxed once more, but still didn’t make a move for his dinner.

“It’s not poisoned.” Tony huffed, managing to sound offended and amused at the same time as he watched the boy. Clint flinched violently and pushed his back further into the corner. When they all continued to watch him, he shakily lifted his hands and made a series of quick gestures. Sam frowned and turned to Steve and his partner. Both of them were fluent in sign language, Steve because he was a teacher, and one of his students was deaf. Why Tony knew was anybody’s guess. Steve frowned.

“No Clint, it’s not a trick. It’s fine.” He said, trying and not quite managing to keep his voice from catching. There was another series of gestures.

“No, we aren’t going to punish you.” Steve answered in a level tone, though his face betrayed the horror he felt. _What the hell had people done to this kid?_ Sam wondered as he finished his dinner.

“There’s no punishment, Clint. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Thor said, meeting the boy’s gaze from his place next to Steve. Two more signs.

“What about the roof and the fire?” Steve asked, his tone unsteady. Clint signed again, and even Sam picked up on the insistence in the gesture.

“You were scared. It’s okay.” Steve replied, concern in his voice. Thor looked despairing. On the other side of the room, Clint frowned and looked around him nervously. More signs, and then the same one for the third time. Sam thought it might be ‘punish’, but he wasn’t one hundred percent sure.

“No. Being scared is human. Fine.” Steve insisted. Tears welled in the boy’s eyes as his frown deepened.

“Clint,” Bruce began gently, drawing the boy’s confused glance. “Whatever you might’ve been told in the past, it’s okay to be scared of things.” Another sign. That one Sam did recognise.

_But…_

“But nothing, Clint.” Bruce replied. “It’s okay to be scared. And it’s okay to admit you’re scared, too.” Then, Bruce glanced at the plate of food in front of the younger boy. “Eat something, please.”

Almost reluctantly, Clint dragged the plate closer to him and gathered a forkful of food. He flinched and shivered violently after he swallowed it, and his fork clattered to the plate for another five minutes.

Suddenly the ‘trick’ comment made sense to Sam, and he found himself disgusted by what this kid had obviously been put through. He’d thought that they were coaxing him to eat so that they could then punish him for eating. He turned away, determined not to make the boy scared and knew from the small smile gracing Steve’s lips that his friend was taking that as a win. Sam couldn’t really blame him.

From the corner of his eye, Sam watched with a grin as, after a few minutes and no incoming punishment, Clint picked up his fork and, painfully slowly, began to eat. Steve’s smile grew.

* * *

13th June

“What are we doing here, Sam?” Bucky asked as he watched his best friend’s house from Sam’s passenger seat.

“We’re visiting Steve.” Sam answered calmly.

“You know I don’t deal well with the kids.” Bucky moaned, sending a withering look at Sam.

Sam sighed as he took the keys out. “Fine. I’m checking that they didn’t accidentally kill their latest acquisition.” He turned to glare at Bucky. “I brought _you_ , cos I think he’ll get on with you.”

Bucky cringed. “Why?”

“I just have a feeling. Get your butt out my car.” With a glare, Bucky complied and walked over to his friend’s house.

The door opened before either man could knock. Bruce looked at them both for a moment before walking back down the hallway. “Sam! Bucky! Do come in!” He yelled.

“Sam! Get in here!” Tony’s voice called. Worry coiling in his gut, Sam moved past Bruce into the room. The sight he was confronted with made him stop suddenly. Clint was backed into a corner, teeth bared in mistrust. Both Steve and Tony were crouched down in front of him, trying to get close to him.

“Okay, what the hell?” Sam asked, watching the couple shift forward slightly. Without looking away from Clint, Steve replied.

“Clint’s psychiatrist gave us some medication for him, and he won’t take it.”

Bucky moved past Sam silently. “What meds?” He asked, voice low and dangerous, as it was whenever meds and shrinks came up.

“Just something to help with his anger.” Tony replied.

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, kid seems _real_ angry. I’d be running away if I were you, pal.” It was true, Sam allowed. Clint – apart from the grimace – didn’t appear angry. In fact, he looked positively calm.

Tony turned from where he was crouching and shot Bucky a withering glare. “This was, of course, _after_ he beat up his psychiatrist.”

“He what?” Sam asked, eyebrows rising. Tony nodded with a small sarcastic smile. “Wha- why?”

Next to him, Bucky started laughing. “Oh, I like this kid!” He grinned. “What’s your name?” Clint spared him a glance, but didn’t reply.

“Clint, please, just take the tablet, okay? It will help.” Steve tried, the desperation obvious in his plea. The boy turned and glared at him. Whilst he was distracted, Tony made a lunge for his wrist. Bucky watched, amazed, as Clint smacked Tony’s arm away and, without hesitation, flipped himself over Steve and Tony, and came up running for the stairs. A few minutes later, they heard a window slam.

Steve sighed and bent his head to his chest. Next to him, Tony straightened.

“Well, what the fuck do we do now?” He asked no one in particular.

“I don’t know what to do… short of forcing him to take them…” Steve trailed off, looking miserable.

“Don’t force him to take them.” Bucky answered. Steve opened his mouth to protest but Bucky cut him off. “That includes begging and nagging. If he says he don’t wanna take ‘em, he don’t wanna take ‘em, end of story.” He drawled.

“But the meds are supposed to _help_ him.” Tony pointed out. Bucky levelled him with a frown.

“The kid’s not a day over ten, he don’t need no meds for anger.” Bucky glanced round the room. “My first concern would be why the shrink said he needed ‘em.”

Tony sighed. “I _told_ you, he _attacked_ the-”

“Why?” Bucky returned, staring intently at Tony. “What drives a kid to attack someone like that? He ain’t done it for no reason.” Tony shifted uncomfortably. “’Xactly. Focus shouldn’t be on the kid. What did the shrink do or say that upset him?” Bucky stirred, and with his movement, the tension dissolved. “While you figure that out, I’m gonna go chill with the only sane person here.” With that, Bucky moved up the staircase.

“Good luck getting onto the roof with him. Don’t blame me if he throws you off!” Tony called after him.

* * *

“Hey! Mind if I join you?” Bucky called as he swung his legs onto the rooftop. The boy was huddled on the furthest corner, looking out over the garden. He didn’t respond to Bucky, so carefully, he made his way over to him and sat down, letting one leg swing over the ledge.

“‘m not taking no meds.” The boy muttered sullenly into his arms.

“Hey, ‘s fine by me.” He replied, not looking in the boy’s direction. “I don’t take the meds my shrink gives me, either.” He felt the boy’s gaze on his face, but didn’t turn. Instead, he took out a cigarette. After a few moments, he dug out his lighter. Then he turned to the boy. “Do you mind?” He asked around the cig clasped in his mouth, lighter poised at the end of it.

The boy shrugged and looked away again. “Free country.” Bucky smiled and lit up, taking a much needed drag. “Army?” The boy asked after a few minutes.

“Huh?” Bucky asked, frowning as he breathed out the fumes.

“You from the army? You came in with Sam, who’s an army friend, an’ you got a prosthetic.”

Bucky nodded, stunned.

“What’s it like?” The boy asked, settling his head on his folded arms.

“Don’t join.” Bucky answered immediately. “You don’t- it’s just- the violence, the fighting, all the young ‘uns think it’s gonna be great. It’s really not, kid. It messes you up. For good.”

“My name’s Clint, not kid.” Clint replied after a while. “And I wasn’t thinking about joining.”

“Well, that’s good, that’s nice you’re not obsessed with blowing people’s brains out.” Bucky said. “Most young kids are.”

“I’ve already done that.” Clint replied bluntly.

Bucky felt a shiver run down his spine; he wasn’t entirely sure it was the cold. “You what?”

Clint was silent for a long while. Bucky finished his cigarette and threw the stub over the edge of the roof.

“The second home they put me in.” Clint said quietly. Bucky turned to watch him, but didn’t interrupt. “The man there…he… he hurt me. And he had a friend, a copper, who’d come over, and sometimes he’d hurt me as well.” Clint paused, and Bucky felt an instinctive need to protect him. “The guy had a gun, an- and he threatened to use it on me if I was bad. An’, one night, they’d… well… they ended up locking me in the cellar, ‘cept they didn’t lock it properly. So I got out. I grabbed his gun an’ ran for it. I didn’t- I wasn’t going to use it. I just… I don’t know. Guess it was to try and scare ‘em.” Clint paused. “They followed me, yelling about all the shit they were gonna do if I didn’t go back. The next thing I know, I’m surrounded by police on this hill top, and they’re all getting closer and I don’t wanna go back there, I don’t wanna go back where I got hurt so I raise the gun, and they don’t stop, and this guy’s shouting about how bad I’m been, and his friend’s trying to grab the gun and I’m scared so I aim at his shoulder and fired. But he moved. He moved and it hit his back instead and I’m so scared and I don’t know what to do, and the man’s there yelling at how he’s gonna kill me for shooting his friend and he’s running at me, so I aim low and shoot him and then I run and I don’t wanna ever stop. I just wanna be gone and then this police man catches up to me and he slams me into the ground and I can’t breathe and he just put me in the back of his car and starts driving and I’m so scared, ‘cos all I wanted to do was leave, I didn’t wanna go back where I was been hurt and-”

Bucky leaned out and gently nudged Clint’s shoulder. Clint flinched wildly, eyes blinking rapidly before they settled on Bucky. “Come here,” Bucky said gently, holding his arms out wide. Clint barely hesitated before clambering over the roof tiles and clinging to Bucky, muting his sobs in Bucky’s shoulder, where his flesh met the metal of his prosthetic arm. Bucky slowly wrapped his arms around Clint and just held him there.

“It’s alright. It’s alright, Clint.” He breathed gently. “You’ll be okay.”

* * *

“You don’t think I’m a psycho?” Clint asked some time later, his voice muffled by Bucky’s shoulder.

“No,” Bucky murmured gently. Clint sniffed. “Clint, most people’d disagree with me. But most people ain’t _been_ in a situation like that. When I joined up… I thought I was doing the world a favour. But the first time you kill someone…” Bucky swallowed, and Clint sat up and watched him in the darkness. “I remember… the other guys in my squad, they were all celebrating, cos we’d come out unscathed. And all I could think about was watching that boy – he wasn’t no older than me - die, and knowing that _I’d_ done that. It was no-one else’s fault. Just mine.” Bucky paused for a moment, before he looked down at Clint. “I think there’s a line. And when you cross it, that’s when you’ve gone too far. That’s when you need locking up.” Bucky looked to the horizon.

“How do you know when you’ve crossed the line?” Clint asked; his young voice sounding so full of an innocence that wasn’t there.

“You’ve crossed the line when you can kill a man and you don’t care.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one guys (sorry, not sorry)

Sam sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he leant against the kitchen counter. In front of him, Tony and Steve were still staring at the doorway Bucky had just left through. “Look,” he said, “Just – Do you know where you went wrong?”

 “Taking the damn kid in the first place,” Tony replied darkly. Steve glared at him.

“Seriously guys, what the hell made you think cornering a traumatised kid was a good idea?” Sam asked. “Maybe he does need to take the meds, but cornering him? Really? He’s seven years old. How would you like it if you got cornered by two guys who are much bigger than you? Two _adults_ who you’ve been told are supposed to be looking after you. And, frankly, should know better than cornering a traumatised seven-year-old!”

 Steve, at least, had the decency to look ashamed of himself. Tony, on the other hand, seemed to take it as a personal insult.

 “What were we supposed to do, huh? He’s gotta take them. He attacked someone, Sam!” he said, straightening.

“What you were supposed to do, you complete ass, was not corner the terrified seven year old! Christ, man, you know he’s had bad experiences with authority figures and abuse, and yet you still do shit like this. You’re not exactly a small guy, Tony, and the six-foot wall of muscle over there? Hell, _I_ wouldn’t like to be cornered by him and I’m a grown man!” He stabbed a finger in Steve’s direction. “I know you know better.”

Sighing again, Sam pushed himself off the counter. “Now, I’m going to go say hi to your other children. And then I’m going to see what damage your idiocy has done.”

* * *

“Bucky?” Sam’s voice stirred Bucky out of his reverie. He glanced down but to his surprise, Clint was asleep against his chest, hands clinging loosely to Bucky’s shirt. Carefully, Bucky twisted around.

“Yeah?” He called back as loudly as he dared, not wanting to wake Clint.

“You guys okay?” Sam called back. Vaguely, Bucky could see his head appearing over the rooftop. It was dark, he realised belatedly. Before he could really formulate a reply to that, Sam was walking over the tiles.

“I could use a hand getting him in, I suppose.” Bucky smiled softly, indicating the sleeping child in his arms. Sam frowned down at him as he moved closer.

“He okay?”

“Seems to be. He had a bit of a panic on me, but he was alright before he fell asleep.” Sam nodded and placed one hand on Clint’s back, while the other was offered out to Bucky. Bucky pulled himself up gratefully and slowly they made their way back to the window.  

After what felt like an age of difficult manoeuvres, Bucky and Sam managed to get Clint into his bed without waking him up. Sam watched from across the room as Bucky pulled the cover over the scrawny figure, brushing his fingers through the boy’s hair with a fond smile before pulling away. Bucky joined Sam and folded his arms across his chest, still watching the kid.

“Don’t know what it is about this kid that’s making ‘em mess up so badly.” Sam sighed.

Bucky gave a non-committal hum. “There doesn’t seem to be much about him that they understand.”

“True.” Sam allowed, folding his own arms.

Bucky shifted suddenly, eyes still fixed on Clint. “They already know he’s deaf, right?”

With a frown, Sam turned to look at Bucky expectantly. When his friend glanced across at him, he too frowned.

“What?”

“Wha’d’ya mean ‘what’?” Sam asked. “Why’d you come out with he’s deaf’?”

Bucky frowned. “You mean it’s not in the file?”

Sam shook his head. “They’re not treating him like he’s deaf.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as he turned back to the kid.

“Well, he is. At least partially. An’ he’s a damn good lip-reader.”

“How do you know?” Sam asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

Bucky sighed through his nose. “His speech is slurred in places. And I don’t think he realised he did it, but the more difficult words he’d mouth out, presumably so he found the sounds that made sense, if you know what I mean.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “He doesn’t have any hearing aids.”

“Do you think they’ll notice?” Bucky asked.

“Let’s give them a fortnight. If they haven’t noticed by then, we’ll step in.” Sam answered, walking out of the room. Bucky nodded his agreement as he shut the door quietly behind them.

* * *

15th June

The phone rang about five times before Steve made it out of the bedroom and down the stairs. As he walked across the room to answer it, he tried to fathom out who was ringing. It was only 2:20, so it wasn’t late enough for the kids to be out of school for anything. Sam would still be working; Bucky would probably only just be getting out of bed.  It could be Pepper or Rhodey, but they’d probably ring Tony on his mobile rather than the house phone.

“Hello?” He answered with a frown.

“Mr Rogers?” A voice Steve thought he recognised from somewhere replied.

“Speaking,” He replied, tone slightly hostile.

“Hello, Mr Rogers, I’m Mrs Smith.” There was a pregnant pause. Steve had the feeling the name was supposed to ring a bell for him.

“Um,”

“Clint’s head teacher?” 

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed as the name linked up with the face of a fifty-something year old woman he’d met four days ago to get Clint a school place. “Right, sorry about that. What can I do for you?”

“You can come to my office at your earliest convenience.” Steve tried not to panic at the very pissed-off tone of voice she was using. “We need to have a discussion about Clint.”

“Is everything alright?” Steve asked, worry over Clint’s safety pushing out his earlier panic.

“No, but we’ll discuss it when you get here.” He could practically hear the demon smile that all head teachers seemed to possess.

“Oh, okay. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Tony shuffled into the room, shirtless but wearing a hoodie after their interrupted, impromptu make-out.

“What’s up?” He asked. Something about him seemed almost satisfied, and Steve had to fight away a burst of irritation.

“Clint’s head teacher wants to see us right away.” Steve admitted, looking Tony in the eye.

“Sounds dreadful.” Tony yawned. “Well, why don’t I drop you off then pick up the others? We could probably pick you back up en route if it’s a quick thing.”

“Tony, why won’t you get involved?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes at his husband.

“Look, I’d love to go listen to why we need to find Clint a new school, but we promised the others we’d pick them up, and we won’t make both in time.”

Steve huffed. “You don’t know it’ll be that bad!” He protested.

Tony scoffed. “It’s day one of school, the head teacher has rung up in school time to arrange a meeting A.S.A.P.” He paused and looked at Steve. “He’s getting expelled.”

* * *

Steve hated it when Tony was right.

He could tell something big had happened as soon as he walked into the office. Clint was sat to one side of the desk, studiously ignoring everything, his bag on the floor by his chair. Mrs Smith only smiled in greeting, casting her eyes over Clint as soon as she had. As he sat on the chair opposite the desk, Steve noticed that all the stationary had been moved well away from him. In fact, everything except the chair he was sitting on and the table had been moved away from Clint.

Steve shot a frown at Clint before turning to the woman. “What’s happened?”

“Well, I don’t quite know where to begin to be honest.” Mrs Smith answered as she moved a stray piece of hair off her face. “First of all, he won’t speak to anyone. And despite being asked nicely, offered rewards, being threatened with detention and outright told to engage in class, he has done no work whatsoever since eight ‘o’ clock this morning.”

Steve felt himself sinking lower into his chair.

“In fact, your child spent the majority of his morning in the air vents, from which he refused to come down. Our janitor had to block all the school’s vents except one in order to get him out!” Steve glanced across at Clint, but he was still staring at the floor and not paying attention.

“When he decided to join us again for lunch, he threw the packed meal you sent him with in another student’s face for no apparent reason, and then he refused to eat the school meal we offered him.” She paused long enough to glare at Clint’s head, not that he reacted. “Because it was his first day, and we thought he might be having trouble settling, we still let him out to play after lunch.” Steve internally groaned as he realised he hadn’t heard the worst of it yet.

“That’s when he decided to pick a fight with a student who’s in his final year here. He then managed to involve another student in the altercation before attacking the teachers that tried to break them all up.” She paused again and took a gulp of tea.

“He was then put in isolation. That’s when I called. Since then he has weaponised a pen, paperclips and a pencil sharpener in various attempts to escape.” She sighed. “I must ask you to find another schooling arrangement for him, with immediate effect.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Well, hang on a minute, you gotta at least take him ‘til I find another place! That’s not fair.”

“That child is not re-entering the premises after he leaves today.” She replied firmly. “He is destructive and unstable, to say the least. I might suggest you think about your parenting of him. If that’s the sort of behaviour you allow him to get away with, no school will take him.”

Steve glared at her. “For your information, Mrs Smith, my partner and I are fostering Clint. He came to us last Friday, when he was obviously excused from school. Now I’d like to think that we can improve the behavioural habits he’s picked up from god-knows-where, but that doesn’t happen over a weekend!” He returned angrily. He sighed, and picked up Clint’s school bag, gaining his attention for the first time. “But if that’s your attitude towards educating my child,” he continued as he stood up. Clint looked up at him. “Then I’m glad to be forced to take him elsewhere.”

“Come on, Clint.” He added as he walked out of the office. Steve pretended not to see Clint throw what looked like a blade from a pencil sharpener towards Mrs Smith with worrying accuracy as he followed Steve out.

* * *

“Seriously, Clint?” Steve asked as Tony’s car pulled up. He could already see the others in the back seats. “What were you thinking?” He glared down at the boy next to him, but he seemed as unruffled by Steve’s criticisms as he had been by Mrs Smith’s entire rant. Steve opened the back door of the car for him as it pulled up and maybe slammed it shut after him with a little more force than strictly necessary. He didn’t particularly care. The rest of the car journey was silent.

As soon as they reached the house, Steve explained to Tony what had happened.

“Jesus. We need to nip this in the bud or we’ll be going through a school a day.” He said, catching Steve’s eye.

“I know.” Steve replied, turning to look at Clint, who was standing awkwardly in the front room, eyes cast at the floor. “It looks like he knows as well.”

They moved into the room slowly and made their way over to Clint. The other children glanced at each other before making their way upstairs. Tony nodded at Steve silently before slipping into his lab.

“Clint, what you did today is unacceptable.” Steve said. “We won’t tolerate that sort of behaviour from you, alright? You might not be settled now, but if _anything_ on that scale happens again, we will ring Phil and send you back! Do you understand?”  He was shouting by the end, though he never meant to be.

“You cannot – will not – ever attack anyone like that again, do you hear? And as for turning a paper clip into a weapon, you shouldn’t even know how to do that! That was despicable! We went to a lot of trouble to get you that placement on a day’s notice. We paid out for you for a term, and it was non-refundable! You make damn well sure in the future that that is not the report we get! If you ever disrespect the time, the effort, and the goddamn money we put into keeping you out of an asylum again, so help me god I will let them take you!”

Clint was trembling when he finished.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Steve ground out.

There was no answer for a long moment, and then a rushed garble that Steve didn’t catch.

“What?” He asked again, still glaring at Clint. Clint swallowed before ducking his head.

“I wanna talk to Bucky.” He whispered. Despite the lack of volume in his words, Steve could still hear the tremor in his voice.

“Of course you do.” He spat as he grabbed his mobile and dialled the number. Once he had, he held it out to Clint and then gestured for him to sit on the couch. Clint sank to the floor.

“Stevie?” Bucky’s tinny but so obviously confused voice came through the phone.

Clint opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t make a sound.

“Steve, what’s wrong?” Bucky was asking more urgently now. “Do you need me to come round? Steve?” When Clint still didn’t reply, Bucky continued. “Okay, I’m coming round. I’ll be five minutes tops, hang on!” And then the dial-tone sounded.

Steve snatched his phone back with an annoyed sigh and he went to leave the room, leaving Clint sitting in the middle of the floor.

He didn’t see the tears that fell as he sauntered to make a drink to take down to the lab for Tony.

* * *

When Bucky reached Steve’s house and pulled up, the only movement seemed to be coming from upstairs. For once, he was glad of Steve’s insistence that he had a key as he pushed on the door and found it locked. That in and of itself was wrong. Steve and Tony only ever locked the door at night or if one of the kids was having a problem. He eventually managed to push the door open and he rushed inside, his head playing out the worst scenarios he could imagine.

Nothing seemed wrong. He made his way into the living room slowly, his senses on high alert. In the middle of the room, Clint was tucked into a foetal position, clinging desperately to his legs, his head buried on top of his knees. The sobs he was emanating wracked his entire frame. There was no one else in the room.

Bucky made his way over to Clint, kneeling in front of him and very gently tapping his knee with a metal finger. Clint flinched and reared back wildly as his eyes darted around the room before focusing on Bucky. When they did, a sob tore from Clint’s throat as he hurled himself towards Bucky and clung onto his chest. Bucky, startled, slowly wrapped his arms around Clint’s back and rubbed up and down in what he hoped was a soothing way.

“Clint, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Bucky asked, gently lifting Clint away from him so he could meet his eyes. He hung his head as his cheeks flushed and he cried again. “Clint?” Bucky asked. “What’s the matter?” Clint just shook his head and sniffed.

Just then, Bucky’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He tucked Clint back into his chest, leaving one arm cradled round his back whilst reaching for his phone. It was a text from Steve.

_He was an absolute asshole today and got himself expelled from school. We’re understandably annoyed with him._

Bucky frowned and was about to reply when the follow-up text detailing Clint’s behaviour popped up. He read through it quickly, feeling more disbelief with every line he read. He looked back down at Clint.

“What happened at school today?” He asked, incredulity in his tone.

“It was an accident I swear I didn’t mean to be bad I don’t wanna go back please I wanna be good please please I didn’t mean to please don’t let them hurt me!” Clint cried as he clung to Bucky, his face pressed into Bucky’s chest.

“Hurt you? They hurt you?” He asked, anger flaring in his chest.

Clint shook his head minutely. “But he’s really angry and angry people always hurt and he’s gonna send me back I don’t wanna go back please Bucky please don’t let them send me back!”

“Okay, okay, Clint.” Bucky answered, wrapping his arms back around the trembling boy. “I won’t let them send you back, okay?” He soothed. “It’s okay, shush, you’re okay.” He carried on hugging Clint close to him, rubbing up and down his back to try and calm him. They stayed silent until Clint’s breathing evened out.

“I don’t want to go back.” Clint whispered weakly into Bucky’s chest.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Bucky reassured him. “Now, not to get all therapist-y on you, but what happened today?”

Clint sniffed. “He’s told you what happened.”

“Why did you attack a teacher Clint?” He asked instead. Clint curled closer into Bucky’s side.

“‘Cause I thought it was another kid joining in.”

“You were fighting another kid?” Bucky asked.

“He was bullying another kid, and the teacher wouldn’t do anything about it.”

Bucky nodded to himself before carrying on. “Okay, so why try and get out of isolation?”

“Because I didn’t do nothing wrong!” Clint replied angrily. “That other kid was in the wrong and they didn’t do nothing to him!” Bucky was slightly alarmed as he felt Clint’s fist tightening in his shirt.

“Please don’t rip my t-shirt.” He murmured. Clint’s grip lessened slightly.

“They didn’t punish him when he was in the wrong.” He muttered sullenly. Bucky idly wondered if that was the ‘anger’ that Clint was supposed to be on medication for.

“And what about the other stuff?” He asked gently.

“What about the other stuff?”

“Throwing your food at someone?”

Clint shifted in Bucky’s lap. “I didn’t mean to do that.” He looked up at Bucky, his gaze searching. “She called me a retard and I just-”

“Okay, enough said on that one.” Bucky answered smoothly, trying not to let the anger bubbling through him show. How dare they punish Clint for defending himself?

“What about the vents, Clint?”

“They’re my hiding place.” Clint admitted slowly. “I go into the vents when I’m overwhelmed.”

“And why were you feeling overwhelmed?” Bucky asked.

Clint gave him a half-hearted glare. “Now you’re getting therapist-y.” He mumbled. Bucky just grinned at him.

“Look at it this way, if you tell me why you did everything you did today, then I can tell Steve, and Steve will stop being mad at you, and you probably won’t have to talk about it all with your actual therapist.”

Clint seemed to consider that for a moment, still holding close to Bucky. “The teacher was yelling at someone and the kids were laughing and then someone screamed and I couldn’t tell what was happening and it scared me.”

 _Overlapping sounds and he couldn’t tell what was_ _happening_ Bucky noted absently. How had they not figured out that Clint was deaf already?

“Alright. Seems fair.” He smiled gently down at Clint. “So why wouldn’t you do your work?”

Clint shrugged against him, ducking his head down to avoid making eye contact.

“Clint, why didn’t you do the work?” Bucky tried, a bit more firmly.

Again, Clint shrugged. “I never went to school before the orphanage.” He said into Bucky’s chest. Bucky frowned for a moment, trying to figure out what that meant.

“So?” Bucky asked.

Clint regarded him with an incredulous look. “My parents died when I was six.” He said, eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. For a minute, Bucky was silent, then the realisation of what Clint had said washed over him.

“You can’t read or write, can you?” He asked.

Clint shrugged. “Can’t answer if I don’t understand the question.” He said, again shifting in Bucky’s lap.

“Oh, Clint.” Bucky sighed, and pulled Clint closer to him.

 After a while, an idea popped into Bucky’s head. “Hey! Do you know why I got expelled from my school?” He asked, grinning. Clint looked up at him with a frown. Slowly, a smile stole onto his face, so Bucky began.

* * *

Steve could hear Bucky’s uproarious laughter from the top of the stairs to Tony’s lab. He gave a small smile - there had been a time when he’d thought he’d never hear that laugh again.

“And so I had to jump from the horse into the-”

Clint cut himself off abruptly as Steve stepped into the room. He looked down at the floor and went quiet and listless, losing the animation Steve had heard in his voice just moments before.

Steve tried not to be deterred. “Everything okay?” He asked lightly, smiling at Bucky.

His friend seemed to deflate a little, but he shrugged. “We’re fine.” He answered. “Just swapping stories.” He said with a side glance at Clint. He didn’t respond.

“Hopefully _some_ of them were about today.” Steve muttered.

Bucky scowled. “Yes actually Steve, a lot of them were about today, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you should apologise to Clint.”

Steve whirled to face Bucky. “ _I_ should apologise? What the hell have I got to apologise for?”

Bucky raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “For jumping to conclusions, and telling him off without asking why those things happened.”

Steve could tell by the less-than-impressed tone that Bucky had a lot more to say to him on the matter. Flushing, Steve turned to look at Clint. “Clint, would you go and ask the others what they feel like having for dinner? We’re gonna get a take-out.” He moved up the stairs without a word.

Bucky watched silently, then turned to face Steve as soon as Clint was out of earshot.

“What the fucking hell did you tell him, Steve?” Bucky growled.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? I mean that whatever you said bloody convinced that kid that A, you were going to hurt him and B, you were going to send him back!” He answered sharply. “I came in here; he was on his own, in the middle of the floor, crying his fucking heart out. When he saw me he fucking begged me to not let you hurt him and not to send him back!”

Bucky paused for a moment before continuing. “It took me at least twenty minutes to calm him down. And then we talked about today.”

“And?” Steve asked, swallowing.

“And, he attacked the teacher because he thought it was another kid fighting him, he was fighting with the kid because the kid was bullying someone, and the teacher wouldn’t do anything. He tried to get out of the isolation room because he hadn’t done anything wrong and they didn’t punish the other kid.” He spat.

Steve felt guilt start to coil in his stomach. “And the other stuff?”

“He threw his food in a girl’s face because she called him a retard, he went into the vents because he was getting overwhelmed by everything.” Bucky paused, his eyes boring into Steve’s. “And he wouldn’t do his work because he couldn’t.”

Steve blinked. “What do you mean, he couldn’t?”

“You know how old he was when his parents died, right?” Steve nodded, nonplussed. “He told me today that he never went to school before the orphanage.” Steve frowned.

“What does that have to do with-”

“Steve, how old was he when his parents died?”

“Six,” he replied immediately. “But what does… oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. So, like I said, you should probably apologise to him.” Steve nodded silently as he sank into a chair in the kitchen.

“Shit, Bucky, what the hell have I done?” He whispered. Bucky sighed and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t say it like you’ve done irreparable damage, Steve. You have to work on this with him. Just… don’t give him up. For me.”

Steve met Bucky’s eyes and gave him a weak smile.

“You sap.” He accused.

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah, well. He’s a good kid, really. He just never got given the rules for other people.”

Steve seemed to think about that for a few minutes.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He conceded. “Stay for dinner?”

* * *

Clint stood outside the room in silence, peering through the slight opening where the door wasn’t quite shut. The other three children were sitting on the bed together in a tangle of limbs, watching a film. For a moment, he felt a jealous pang as he watched them. They all seemed to slot together like jigsaw pieces that had been made to sit comfortably next to each other, offering support and inclusion without ever intruding past a point. This whole family fitted together perfectly, as did every family he’d been sent to live with, and Clint felt like he was a spectator once again. They’d sent him here to see how normal families worked, how normal children grew up. Natasha didn’t get wound up when she mispronounced a word, Bruce didn’t have stupid little breakdowns when someone went to touch him, Thor didn’t wake up screaming because of his past. Clint felt different to the kids in every way.

 _That’s because I am,_ He thought bitterly as he went to push the door open. _I am a retarded freak, that’s why I don’t fit in. That’s why I’m punished._

The girl turned to look at him and smiled as he stepped into the room. Clint didn’t bother returning it, instead letting his gaze drift back to the film. _Lord of the Rings_ , he identified after a few seconds.

“Wanna join us?” She asked hesitantly, motioning to the empty space on the bed next to her.

“They wanna know what food you want.” He mumbled at the floor, suddenly feeling completely alone. He tried convincing himself that the ache in his stomach was from hunger, but it didn’t work. He missed Barney so much.

At the mention of food, Thor paused the film and both he and Bruce turned to look at him as well.

“Anything but Chinese.” Thor declared.

“I’m craving Thai,” Bruce murmured. “You okay with Thai?” He asked, glancing at his adopted sister. Natasha nodded, her flaming ginger hair falling into her face.

“Is Thai alright for you?” She asked gently. Clint could feel her gaze on him, but he didn’t look up as he shrugged.

“’S not my dinner.”

At that, Clint saw more than heard them disentangling themselves. Suddenly, Thor was kneeling in front of him, looking up into his face.

“I don’t know what happened today, Clint, and I’m not trying to pry. We heard Steve yelling at you, so we know he’s mad, but no matter what you’ve done, he is not going to deprive you of food.” He said solemnly, watching Clint’s face. Slowly, he clasped his hand around one of Clint’s, and gently rubbed his thumb across the back of Clint’s knuckles. With a soft smile he continued. “Steve and Tony are good people. They want to help you. We all do. But you have to want our help, Clint. If there’s anything that you find uncomfortable here, you tell us, okay? And we’ll change it. None of us want to see you go. What’s more, I know we’re not going to. I’ve lived here for nearly five years now, and Steve and Tony have never given up on anyone.

“I also know that they won’t starve you, so if you don’t want Thai, say so.” He added as he stood back up.

Clint watched him in silence before turning around and leaving.

* * *

As Clint shut the door behind himself, Thor winced, making an aborted step after him.

“I wouldn’t bother, Thor.” Bruce said from behind him. “I think whatever you say, it’s gonna fall on deaf ears there.”

Thor turned and regarded his younger brother solemnly. “But Bruce, he can’t think we’re going to starve him!” Bruce simply shrugged.

“Thor, it’s not your fault. It’s none of our faults.” Natasha told him quietly from where she was perched on the edge of the bed. “I mean, I used to get starved when I was bad. If his parents used to burn him, it’s not that much of a stretch to think they’d starve him.” She said, giving Thor a supportive smile. “And we all know how misleading Steve can get.”

Thor let out a sigh and sat on the floor, head in hands. Apparently noting his distress, both Bruce and Nat shuffled onto the floor next to him. After a minute he spent trying to collect himself, Thor spoke.

“I just- He’s clearly not settling. He’s not even attempted to interact with any of us, and we’ve already had three major fuck ups with him.” Thor watched his siblings closely. “I’m scared we’re not gonna be able to help him.” he admitted.

As Bruce was about to reply, Steve’s voice sounded at the bottom of the stairs.

“What?” Thor shouted in reply, twisting towards the door to help his voice carry.

“Come down!” Came the answering shout. Thor rolled his eyes and sighed before standing, Bruce and Nat following him.

As they made their way into the kitchen, Bucky released Steve from a hug then gave them all his usual grin before leaving the room. Steve turned to them with a much more strained-looking smile.

“Hey guys,”

“Hi Steve, so tell me, why does the small child think he’s going to be starved tonight?” Bruce asked, folding his arms across his chest with a glare.

Steve stared at him, a frown starting to invade his features. “What?”

“Don’t know what you told him off for, or how you told him off, but he thinks he’s not getting fed tonight.” Natasha replied airily.

Steve glanced between the three of them, growing confusion on his face. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.” He grinned nervously.

“We’re not joking.” Thor told him glumly. “He said you sent him to see what food we wanted, and when we asked if Thai was alright with him, he said, and I quote, ‘it’s not my dinner’. So… what happened?”

Steve managed to look both gutted and perplexed at the same time. At his silence, Thor simply raised an eyebrow.

After a tense moment of silence, Steve ran a hand through his hair with an explosive sigh. “Jesus! I don’t- what?” He managed. “I haven’t said anything like that to him! I didn’t- why the hell would he think that?” He ranted, turning away from them. “What the hell have people done to this kid? What is wrong with him?!” Steve cut himself short as the door was pushed open, and Clint wandered in.

Clint glanced between them all, before settling his gaze on the floor. “He said one three four.” He said tonelessly.

“Okay, so, Tony wants his usual, Bucky wants whatever sixty two is, what do you guys want?” Steve asked, trying to sound cheery and not quite managing.

Bruce and Nat both placed their orders quietly before slipping out the room. Frankly, with the current atmosphere, Thor didn’t blame them. As he pretended to peruse one of the menus, he nodded subtly towards Clint, who’d made no move for a menu, and had not requested any food. Steve got the message.

“What about you, Clint? What do you fancy?” He asked, crouching down to Clint’s level. Clint’s head flew up in surprise, and he glanced between the two of them rapidly.

“I’m allowed?” He asked quietly, surprise evident in his tone.

Steve pursed his lips and winced as Thor felt his hands curl into fists. Whoever had been responsible for Clint before the orphanage deserved pain. _Lots_ of pain.

“Clint look at me.” Steve said quietly. The boy’s eyes shot up immediately. “I need you to understand this right now. No matter what you’ve done, no matter how much trouble you get into,” At the reminder of his supposed wrongdoing, Clint’s eyes slipped downwards. “Look at me!” Steve reminded him. “You will never, ever be refused food here. Do you understand?”

Clint nodded silently.

“Okay,” Steve sighed as he straightened up. “Now, what would you like?”

Thor watched expectantly, but Clint only bit his lip.

“I’ve never had Thai food.” He answered quietly, sounding unsure and still a little disbelieving.

Steve hummed thoughtfully. “What would you suggest, Thor?”

After a moment’s consideration, Thor spoke. “Do you like noodles, Clint?” The boy shrugged. “What about spicy food?” Again, Clint only shrugged.

Steve picked up a discarded menu from the table. “How about this? Succulent chicken pieces in a thick, creamy-tasting curry sauce with subtle hints of lemongrass and kaffir lime peel.” He read.

Clint shrugged.

“Well, I’ll get you that to try, and if you don’t like it we’ll order you something else, okay?”

Clint nodded and left the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

16th June

Tony knew the exact second that the kid started making his way down the stairs to Tony’s basement lab. The thumps that Clint was making as he made his way down the stairs were probably audible from their attic master bedroom. Sighing, Tony cleared a space on his workbench and moved most of the dangerous tools out of Clint’s height range, though if what had happened at his school the day before was true, it wouldn’t stop Clint from getting hold of them if he wanted to.

“Hi Tony,” Bruce said as he walked over to the work bench, gently pushing Clint in front of him with one hand. In the other hand, he clutched some paper, a few books and a pencil case.

Tony turned to them with a grin. “Hey.” With a glance at Clint, Tony continued. “So, you guys’ll be okay down here if I go get some lunch?” He watched Bruce, worried frown playing over his features.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Yes, Tony we’ll be fine.” He replied with a pointed glare. Tony raised his hands in surrender and left the lab.

Upstairs, he found Steve in the living room, on his cell phone. From the look on his face, the conversation wasn’t going his way. By the table, Thor and Natasha were gathered around a laptop, Nat slowly copying something from the screen at Thor’s urging. God, Tony still remembered when Thor hadn’t dared to touch anything in case he broke it and got sent back to the orphanage.

Swallowing the last dregs of his cold coffee, Tony slid into a seat opposite them.

“What’cha doin’?” He asked quietly as he drew out his own laptop from its bag and fired up his emails.

“Getting contact details for tutors for Clint.” Thor murmured, not taking his eyes off the screen in front of him.

After the revelation that Clint couldn’t read or write, it had been obvious that they wouldn’t be able to put Clint back into a mainstream school for kids his age, even if they could have found one to take him. Steve had immediately started googling reading and writing tutors that could get Clint up to scratch with his education. Though he didn’t mention it, Tony could easily see the way the guilt of not realising Clint’s problems for himself was tearing at his partner. With Steve it was always easier to let him find a way to assuage the guilt than try to convince him it wasn’t his fault.

“Oh. I take it from all the screwed up paper in the trash this isn’t going well?” He asked lightly, trying not to sound too satisfied that he was being proven right in his prediction that no one would volunteer to teach a child who could weaponise stationary, and apparently shoot a gun.

Natasha looked up at him with a glare. “Unless you’re going to relent on being the asshole parent here, and actually be useful, can you go gloat in silence?” She asked sharply.

“Watch how you’re talking to me, Natasha.” He replied in a casual tone. She scowled at him before turning back to the laptop.

Thor scrolled through a page. “If I was allowed off school I’d teach him myself.” He said quietly. “A tutor’s just another person we have to convince him to trust.”

Bruce appeared at the top of the stairs that led into the lab. “Tony, could you bring down some water, please?” He asked.

“Just water?” Tony asked as he stood. “The kid don’t want a capri-sun, or something?”

Bruce rolled his eyes as Tony moved into the kitchen. “He’s probably never had a capri-sun in his life, and now is not the time to give him a sugar high.”

“Whatever.” Tony handed over two glasses of water, one not completely full. “Please don’t spill down there.”

As Bruce made his way back down to the lab, Steve ended his phone call.

“Any luck?” Natasha asked, hope creeping into her tone. Steve shook his head, the bright sunlight streaming in the window making his hair shine.

“’I’m sorry, Mr Rogers but I don’t think I’d be the best fit for your child.’” He mimicked as he picked up one of the phone numbers Natasha had scrawled down. He sighed. “At this rate, I’m inclined to let Bruce off school to teach him for the rest of term.”

Thor scowled. “I’d like to be off school.” Steve gave a slight chuckle.

“You have exams, Thor. Bruce doesn’t. Otherwise you could gladly teach him.”

“Screw exams.” Thor declared indignantly. Steve and Natasha giggled, and after a second, Tony joined in.

 

* * *

Bruce took his time drawing out the letters of the alphabet in upper and lower case side by side whilst Clint hovered nervously, his eyes scanning the lab.

“So,” Bruce said as he finished. “This is the alphabe-” When he looked around, Clint wasn’t facing him, so he tapped the boy’s shoulder gently. He flinched wildly, but after a moment, his gaze settled on Bruce. Bruce tapped the piece of paper again, drawing Clint’s attention to it.

“This is the alphabet. These are all the letters that make up all the worlds in the English language, okay?”

“There’s only fifty-two.” Clint said frowning.

Bruce smiled. “Half that, actually. You can write each letter in upper and lower case.” He pointed to the neatly written _Aa_ at the top of the sheet. “This is the same letter. But this one,” he pointed towards the first letter. “Is a capital letter.”

“You put them on names.” Clint murmured.

Bruce’s thoughts abruptly stopped. “Yes. Yes you do.” He frowned. “How come you know that?”

Clint shrugged and looked away from Bruce. “My brother had a school book that had his name on it. I asked him how come some letters were bigger than the others.” Bruce could practically hear the misery in the boy’s tone as he shared the memory.

“You must miss him.” He said softly. Clint looked back up at him with those dull blue eyes. “What happened?”

For the first time ever, Bruce saw someone’s face shutter out all emotion. “He left.” Clint said tonelessly. Evidently, whatever _that_ memory was, it hurt him more than the first. Bruce winced, not knowing what to say to make it better. Clint saved him from trying.

He picked up one of the pens Bruce had left on the desktop. “You can kill people with pens.” He said, a small smile playing over his mouth. Bruce recognised the tactic: _avoid, redirect, reengage._

“Great as that may be, today you’re gonna write with the thing, not kill anyone.” Bruce answered after a moment. He gestured for Clint to sit, and showed him how to grip the pen.

“Okay, so once you’ve got the hang of using it,” Bruce said as he handed Clint a piece of paper. “Have a go at copying the letters. I’m going to go get us some drinks.”

Bruce paused halfway up the stairs to try and clear his thoughts. Apparently he and Clint had a lot more in common than he’d initially thought.

* * *

When Bruce returned, Clint had copied the letters out twice over. One version was smudged, but mostly correct, even if the letters were crooked and scribbly. In some places, the lines were darker, and Bruce could tell Clint was pressing down too hard. Still, as first attempts go, it wasn’t half bad.

“That’s good.” He murmured as he sat down next to Clint. The boy had disassembled three pens, and was reaching for a fourth when Bruce realised he had acquired some of Tony’s tools and materials and was building some form of spring board. Steve’s story of how Clint had weaponised stationary at school just the day before suddenly sprang to mind. “Clint!” He had spoken a little too loudly.

Clint looked up, his eyes dancing around the lab, his mouth hanging open slightly in shock. When he caught Bruce’s stern look, he offered a sheepish grin, grabbed the springs and pushed the tools over to Bruce. Then, he rebuilt the pens as if nothing had happened.

Bruce put the tools back on Tony’s other workbench before sitting next to Clint.

“You need to be careful when you’re down here, Clint.” He admonished carefully. “There’s a lot of tools that could be dangerous. And unless someone’s with you, you should always ask permission before coming down here, okay?” Clint nodded in silence. “Okay.”

Bruce reached for the stack of paper he’d brought down with him and shuffled through them. He pulled out a piece with some carefully drawn dot-to-dot words for Clint to draw. “Do you know the letters Clint?” Bruce asked as he set the paper in front of the younger boy. Now that Bruce was paying closer attention, he realised that Clint seemed bored.

Without prompt, Clint picked up a pen and joined the dots together. Some small part of Bruce’s brain took comfort in the fact that he’d at least come across dot-to-dots before. Clint stared at the word he’d written for a long time after he’d finished.

“Do you know what it is?” After a quick frown at the sheet, he pulled Bruce’s example alphabet towards them and pointed at the three letters – A, N, T- in quick succession. “That’s right, but do you know what those letters are, what they mean?”

“No.” Clint’s voice wobbled with uncertainty and what might have been fear.

“That’s okay.” Bruce replied quickly, wanting avoid potential upset. He remembered vividly how frustrated Natasha would get with herself whenever she struggled learning the English alphabet. Bruce had never blamed her. English was _hard_. “I just wanted to know if you knew already.”

Bruce took a quick swallow of water and pointed to the first letter. “That’s an A.”

“A.” Clint repeated slowly, frowning at the sheet.

“Yeah. In its lower case form, it’s pronounced ‘ah’, like in cat.”

“That’s dumb.” Clint said, glaring at the alphabet. “If it’s the same letter why does it change?”

Bruce smiled grimly.

“Because the English language is stupid.” He pretended not to hear Clint swear when the younger boy let his head fall onto the desk.

* * *

By the time Bruce decided to call it quits for lunch, he’d managed to get Clint to spell a few simple words without any aid from him. He was damn pleased with himself, even if Clint was descending into a mood. As they got into the living room, Steve offered them a smile, eyes no doubt becoming worried by the permanent scowl that had taken residence on Clint’s features.

“Spell cat.” Bruce called as he sat down.

“C, A, T.” Clint spat back at him. Bruce smiled.

“Spell arrow.” Bruce had included it on a list of words beginning with A for Clint to draw out. Once he’d discovered what the word was, Clint had seemed to take a fascination with it; Bruce had spied him spelling the word under his breath and on paper at least ten times since they’d moved on from A words.

“A, R, R, O, W.” Came the much less angry reply.

“Well done! What are your vowels?”

Clint faltered for a moment. “Is that the big group?” He asked, suddenly uncertain, wide eyes regarding Steve, who was sitting next to Bruce.

“There are five vowels, Clint.” Steve said gently. There was already a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“A, O,” Bruce was not surprised that they came to Clint’s mind first. “Um, E…? U…” As he trailed off, he rubbed at one side of his forehead before tugging on a handful of hair. Bruce had noticed he did that every time he got something wrong. He was concerned, but after seeing how Clint responded to personal questions, Bruce hadn’t asked where the mannerism came from.

“Remember what makes a letter a vowel?” Bruce prompted, when Clint didn’t give a fifth letter.

“The stupid rule.” Clint muttered back at him.

Bruce overlooked the glare he received challenging him to say the rule wasn’t stupid. He’d made that mistake once. “So it must be…?”

After a few more seconds of thought, Clint answered, albeit sullenly. “I.”

“That’s amazing, guys!” Steve declared, grinning. Clint let out a huff that articulated precisely what he thought of English lessons. “Can you spell your name?” He asked.

Bruce almost winced. Clint had drawn his name – had been about to start the n - until he’d figured out what he was writing. Then he’d abruptly moved on to the next word with no explanation. When Bruce had asked why he’d left it, Clint had practically screamed at him that it wasn’t his business. Bruce had left it alone after that.

Clint’s expression disappeared as he looked Steve dead in the eyes. “Y,O,U,R,N,A,M,E.” He said, with no inflection in his voice. Then, he simply walked out of the room. They heard him making his way upstairs a few seconds later.

“He seems to have an issue with his name.” Bruce said, and he explained the way Clint had responded to writing it. Steve frowned.

“That’s not good. There’s got to be a reason…” He mused.

“I didn’t pry.” Steve nodded his approval as he rose and walked across the room.

“Maybe there’s something in here.” He said as he grabbed Clint’s file and flicked through the pages.

“Whatever,” Bruce replied. “I’m gonna go work on my science project.”

Steve waved him off, already lost in thought as Bruce headed to his room.

In the sanctuary of his room, Clint let himself fall to pieces. He shut the door behind him – gently, so he wouldn’t be in trouble. Then, with a sob, he flung himself at the bed in the corner, and used it to climb to the top of the small wardrobe that was next to it. Once there, he curled up into a ball, gripping his knees to his chest and burying his head between them to hide the sounds he couldn’t stop. He was shaking. _Oh, god, he was shaking all over and he couldn’t stop, no wonder everyone thought he was pathetic when he couldn’t even control his own body, and there wasn’t enough air, and he was still shaking, and someone was going past his door, and he couldn’t stop crying, he couldn’t breathe and they were going to find him, they were going to see him, shaking and crying and not breathing and they were going to realise he was pathetic, and then they were going to hurt him and tell him to grow up and then they’d leave, they always leave always, always…_

* * *

When Clint finally lay still and tearless on top of his wardrobe, he glanced up. The room was dark. One glance out of his window confirmed it. The afternoon sun had long since disappeared, and in its place the moon was sitting in the sky, round, fat, and silver. He’d been up here for hours.

He stretched before climbing carefully back down to the ground. His throat was as rough as he remembered the coarse material of the big top tent being in the circus, and he could feel crusted tears and snot on his face. Rubbing at his nose angrily, Clint made his way down the hall to the bathroom. Thankfully no one was around. He scrubbed his face clean and then paused.

He didn’t know what to do. They might be mad at him for staying in his room for hours. They might be mad at him for being up so late. He could pass it off as a nightmare, maybe… no. They’d want him to talk about it. Clint turned back towards the sink. He could maybe drink from the tap and go to bed…

Eventually his sore throat and his growling stomach decided him. If they asked what he was doing awake, he’d have to say he’d had a nightmare. Maybe he could clam up if they asked about it. Given his already stupid behaviour around them, they might just be convinced he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. It would hardly be a lie. The only lie was it wasn’t a nightmare, because nightmares end, and when you wake up, they were never real in the first place.

Clint traced a finger over the round scars on his left arm. The first one was high, just below his shoulder, burnt into the inside of his arm, where no-one would see, just in case.  The last one was in the crook of his elbow. It was just as invisible as the first, and the ones in between, but this one hurt every time he bent his arm. A mixture of anger and fear coiled in his chest and he felt more tears well up in his eyes.

_Oh well_ , he thought dully as he made his way to the top of the stairs. _Normal kids probably cry when they have nightmares about monsters under their beds._

* * *

“Clint? What are you still doing up? We thought you’d gone to bed hours ago.” Steve said when the young boy appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Clint mumbled something in response, but it was too low for Steve or Thor to catch from where they were sitting. He sniffed noisily then wiped at his nose with the back of his hand.

_Oh god_ , Thor realised with a sick feeling. _He’s been crying._

Without really considering the action, Thor stood up and walked over to Clint.

“What’s up?” He asked gently, using one hand to tilt Clint’s head up. The boy’s eyes remained downcast, but Thor could still see the tears threatening to spill.

“Had a nightmare.” He answered quietly. _Well, shit_.

“Oh dear,” Thor said, and picked Clint up. Clint didn’t respond, just rested his head on Thor’s shoulder when Thor brought him to his chest. The boy’s stomach rumbled against Thor’s. “Steve,” He said, turning round and heading back for the couch. “I think we’re gonna need hot chocolate and some food.”

“Sure,” Steve said, and went into the kitchen. Thor sat down, still holding Clint to his chest. Clint didn’t move, and though he never made a sound, Thor felt the shoulder of his shirt begin to stick to his skin with Clint’s tears.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked quietly. Clint shook his head against Thor’s shoulder and his arms suddenly clung to Thor’s front with a strength only distressed children possess. “Fair enough.” He said, in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “I never used to talk about my nightmares either. Not before I met Steve and Tony.”

Slowly, Clint raised his head and regarded Thor in the dim light. “You have them?” He asked, voice wobbling.

“Had them, yeah.” Thor answered. In the kitchen, he could hear Steve warming up food in the microwave. “I used to have nightmares pretty regularly. About being forgotten, or left behind mostly. Because I was older than all the other kids in the orphanage, no one wanted to adopt me, and none of the social workers had much time for me when they had screaming babies to run round after, so I was always frightened that one day I’d get forgotten completely. After a few months here, they stopped.” Thor explained quietly.

Clint leaned back into his chest, his hair just brushing Thor’s chin. “My nightmares aren’t like that.”

“Everyone’s nightmares are different. It doesn’t make them any less scary.” Thor murmured. He could feel Clint’s heartbeat against his own. It felt surprisingly calm for someone who’d just had a nightmare. After a few minutes of peaceful silence, Steve came back in, balancing three mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of food on a tray.

 “Sit up, Clint.” He said gently, and once Clint was settled on the couch next to Thor, rather than on him, Steve gently placed the tray on Clint’s lap. He passed Thor a mug and sat down on the other side of Clint.

Clint tore into the sandwich on the plate with fervor, only to suddenly drop it back onto his plate, a scandalized noise escaping him.

“It’s hot! **”** He exclaimed once he’d managed to swallow the mouthful he’d torn off. Steve and Thor chuckled warmly and watched as Clint ate the rest of the melted cheese sandwich.

Thor sipped at his hot chocolate and sighed in contentment. “Bruce tells me you’ve picked up reading and writing pretty quickly.” He said conversationally, glancing at Clint, who was shifting uncomfortably, hot chocolate untouched. 

Clint shrugged. “S’just stupid rules.” He muttered, his face screwing up.

“Tell me about it.” Thor grinned. “Give me a gym class anytime over that rubbish.”

Steve smiled. “They get easier to remember the more you write. You should drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

Clint dragged the mug towards him as if it were poison. “What is it?” He asked, a slight hint of curiosity in his tone.

“Well, it’s, hot chocolate.” Steve said, evidently at a loss.

“Melted chocolate? It doesn’t look like melted chocolate.” He asked, glancing at the mug.

“It’s a chocolate flavoured powder that’s stirred into hot milk.” Clint’s face was a picture. Thor found himself laughing. “Trust me, it’s nicer than it sounds.” The younger boy gave him a dubious frown, but lifted the mug and took a sip.

And immediately took a larger swallow. Thor smiled and drank the last of his own drink. By the time Clint had finished, the clock had struck midnight.

“Okay,” Steve sighed as he stood and gathered the mugs up. “Are you feeling better now?”

Clint nodded, his eyes drooping shut of their own accord. Steve smiled and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Off to bed. You need your sleep.”

Thor stood and stretched. “I’ll take you up if you want.” He offered as he gave Steve a hug. Clint gave a slight nod, so Thor stooped and gathered him up before climbing the stairs. He gently nudged Clint’s door open with a foot and leaned Clint on one shoulder to pull back the duvet from the meticulously made bed before depositing Clint into bed. He pulled off his shoes and socks, then drew the cover back over him.

“Goodnight brother. Next time you have a panic attack, you don’t have to call it a nightmare.” Thor whispered.

“Sorry.” Clint whispered back, eyes half shut.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Thor pulled the cover up to Clint’s chin and left. By the time he opened the door to leave, Clint was fast asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long and heavy one guys, but don't worry, it's all uphill from here.

23rd June

Clint looked at the book in front of him. It was only simple, Bruce had said, but reading would apparently help his writing improve. _Plus,_ he’d said. _You need to be able to read as well as write before you go back to school._

If he thought he wouldn’t end up in trouble, Clint would have happily pretended not to be able to read for the rest of his life.

Still, he’d practised every day for a week, writing the alphabet, spelling a few words, getting tested on those words, making the writing neat, over and over until today. He’d finished the book by himself. There was a warm feeling in his chest, the same kind of feeling he got when he was shooting his bow in the circus, but not quite as intense as that. Clint wasn’t sure, but he thought it might’ve been pride. He wouldn’t know. He’d never had any reasons to be proud of himself.

Deciding to have a break and a celebratory glass of water before practising some writing, Clint stood, stretched and wandered over towards the kitchen. Once there, he came across an issue. Someone had washed up, so the glass he’d left himself on the table that he could reach had been put away in a cupboard he couldn’t reach. As had all the glasses. Clint glanced round nervously. Steve had gone to his support group thing with Bucky and Sam; the other kids were at school. Tony had asked not to be disturbed unless it couldn’t be avoided. Clint tugged nervously at his hair. _What counted as unavoidable?_ Did this? Or would he get in trouble for asking? Clint wasn’t sure, but he was certain that if Tony didn’t count it as unavoidable, Clint was in trouble. _Big_ trouble.

He’d noticed that Tony didn’t like him. Since the first ‘“ _It’s not poisoned_.”’ he’d huffed out in defence of his meal, the other man had not spoken to him directly. And he always seemed nervous around Clint, which was stupid, because _he_ was clearly the dangerous one. Clint suppressed a shudder as he remembered how Tony had been holding the knife after Steve had shoved him towards the fire. Clint gulped. No, he wasn’t going to risk upsetting Tony. He could do this. He’d been in the circus, he knew how to climb. He knew how to break a fall if it came to it. He could do this.

Clint grabbed a chair from the table and pushed it up to the side, underneath the cupboard with glasses in it. Then, he grabbed onto the side and pulled himself up onto the chair. He swung the cupboard open and-

The glasses were on the top shelf. With a sigh, Clint stepped onto the glossed worktop and lifted himself onto his tiptoes. He reached for a glass, one hand clutching the door of the cupboard while his other fingers grasped around the cool surface of a glass. His prize in hand, Clint shut the cupboard and took a step back when his socked foot slid on the shimmering marble worktop. Clint twisted, glass forgotten and tried to catch the table across from him, only when his fingers closed around the edge pain suddenly flared across his palm and too much of himself was across the gap, he realised, and that was his last proper thought before there was a dull thud and blackness.

* * *

Tony glanced up from his work when he realised he’d been staring at the same schematic for ages, without taking anything in. He checked his clock and realised it was nearly four. _Oh crap._ Steve would be home soon, and the kids _and oh holy shit he’d left the kid unattended for hours!_ Steve would _kill_ him, and he hadn’t even contemplated dinner, let _alone_ started it.

Tony pushed himself away from his work suddenly and ran up the stairs. Clint was not in the living room. The book Tony had left him reading was on the table, but there were no signs of the kid. With worry creeping into his mind, he went to the bottom of the stairs.

“Clint? You okay?” He yelled, and even to his own ear he sounded slightly aggressive. He was stressed, he told himself. It was fine.

“Yes!” Came the screeched reply. Tony turned away from the steps and moved towards the kitchen. Dinner. _Dinner, dinner, dinner._ He could do this. The kid was fine. All he had to do was start dinner and things would be fine.

Tony told himself later on that if he hadn’t been so panicked over the kid in the first place, he’d never have missed the fear in Clint’s voice as he’d answered him, or the blood on the stairs. As it was, he missed both.

The door opened, and a chorus of shouts were audible to Tony. The door shut again, and then his kids and his husband trooped in with their school bags. Steve smiled warmly and kissed him as the kids settled at the table to do their homework.

“Gross.” Natasha said as her face wrinkled up. “Get a room.”

Tony grinned at her. “It’s called the living room and we’re in it. _You_ get a room.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to her work, as Tony and Steve laughed.

After a minute, Steve moved away slight to deposit his bag of stuff from his VA meeting. “Any problems?” He asked quietly.

Tony shook his head. “Nope. Not a thing. He’s read his book and gone upstairs.” Steve smiled at that, and it lit up his whole face.

“Great. I’m officially celebrating one week trouble-free.” He declared. Tony smiled, but guilt churned in his chest.

“Okay. What would you like for your celebratory dinner?” He asked.

Steve shrugged. “Um, do we have the stuff for lasagne?” He looked hopeful. Damn, Tony would never be able to resist that face. 

“I’ll manage.” He smiled as Steve collapsed onto the couch and turned the TV on before turning and walking to the kitchen.

Within seconds, he flew out again, and towards the stairs, and this time, he did notice the blood drops. Without a second thought, he raced up them and turned to Clint’s room, shoving the door wide open without knocking.

The boy was sitting cross-legged on his bed, on hand on his lap with-

“What the _fucking hell_ is _that_?” He screamed, utter terror flowing through his veins because that was a _knife_ sticking out of his palm and- Jesus _Christ_ was the kid trying to fasten a tourniquet _one-handed_? “What the _shitting hell_ do you think you’re _doing?_ What the _fuck is this?_ Why the _hell_ didn’t you- Holy _fuck_!” Clint turned to face him, and he was pale and beginning to shake and he looked positively terrified of Tony, his chin beginning to tremble in the way that Tony knew led to tears, but he couldn’t see past the blood sluggishly trickling down Clint’s face, past his eyes. _Holy shit how blown were his pupils?_ “What the fucking _fuck?”_ He screamed. “I swear to _god_ Clint, I’ve never met anyone so self-destructive as you, and I know Steve. _Steve_! I mean, I thought he was the worst, cause he fucking _married me,_ but _oh no_! No, _you_ take the fucking biscuit don’t you?” He could barely breathe through the fear lurching in his chest. “For fuck’s sake I should put you in the fucking strait jacket _myself_ _and let them_ take you to the fucking asylum because that’s where you _belong_! For fuck’s _sake!_ What kind of child does that _without crying, huh?_ You fucked up little _fuck!”_

Tony turned on his heel and ran back down the stairs, fingers running on auto-pilot to unlock his phone then he was bringing up the dialler, finger stretching for the nine button. Steve rushed to his side, and Tony belatedly realised that the kids were all watching him.

“Tony? What’s going on?” Steve asked, nerves and concern and confusion strewn across his face.

He pushed Steve away harshly because physical contact was the last thing he needed right now and snapped “Clint’s fucking stabbed himself.”

He brought the phone up to his ear and turned away from their ensuing rally of questions and shouted at the operator for an ambulance. He was distantly aware of Steve heading towards the kitchen, and Tony thought he should probably warn him about the glass and the blood, but then there was a voice in his ear and he started relaying what he knew across to them instead.

* * *

Steve watched with building dread as Tony yelled into his phone for an ambulance, and, swallowing against the sudden pain in his chest, turned towards the kitchen door. He pushed it open slightly with one hand, and there was a lot of blood. For a moment, Steve was thrown back in time. _The wind was harsh, hot, biting, and he was watching blood spray over the sand as their attackers made themselves known. He scrambled to return fire and glanced across at Bucky, but he was covered in blood, so much blood…_

Natasha gasped next to him, and Bruce swore and suddenly he was back in his kitchen, gaze still mesmerised by the blood that was pooled on the floor, by the upturned chair. Shards of glass littered the puddle, and Steve felt blood-chilling horror sweep through him. _No wonder Tony’s so panicked…_

Steve lurched away suddenly, and thundered up the stairs. His heart was beating a million miles an hour, but it almost stopped when he realised Clint’s room was empty. He rushed over to the window, and just caught a glimpse of a small, sandy-haired boy bolting across the park on the opposite side of their street and out of sight.

“Damn it!” Steve cursed as he flew back down the stairs and flung the door open. He ran down their drive as quickly as he could, ignoring the confused cries of his other kids. “C’mon, c’mon _c’mon!”_ He repeated over and over like a mantra as he ran, jumping over the fence into the park. It was only then he realised just how fast Clint had been running. _Damn,_ Steve thought again. _How is he still so speedy when he’s bleeding?_

Once across the park, he paused, uncertain. He hadn’t seen which way Clint had run. _Come on, think!_ He chided himself mentally. _The kid’s bleeding, how can you lose him?_ Steve realised there was no blood on the ground in front of him, or immediately behind him. Sucking in deep breaths, he retraced his steps slowly, with his head down, looking for anything conspicuous on the grass.

He wasn’t expecting to see a dog until it leapt into his face, demanding attention. He jerked backwards in surprise and only just managed to stop himself from falling over. The dog was snuffling at his legs, and he absent-mindedly patted it as he took deep breaths to calm his heart rate back down. One of his neighbours, a plump lady with greying hair ran towards him.

“I’m so sorry about that!” She huffed, grabbing the dog’s collar and pulling it away from him. “I was trying to get a look at this kid, tiny little thing he was, looked to be bleeding too, I’ve written down what I could see, so I can call the cops but-”

Steve grabbed her shoulders and turned to face her fully, suddenly overcome with the need to find Clint before anyone else. He knew the cops had chased him for hours before, and the poor kid would probably be terrified if it happened again.

“Lady, where did he go?”

She looked alarmed, flustered as she tried to figure out why he’d grabbed her. “That’s my kid; I need to get to him, fast!” He said, pouring emphasis over every word. Realisation dawned on her face and she pointed to Steve’s left. “Thank you!” He cried as he set off at a sprint, the dog barking behind him. They should get her a hamper or something for that, he mused as he ran.

There was a steep hill up ahead of him, and Steve could just make out someone at the top. It looked like they were bent double. Heart hammering in his chest, Steve dug deep and raced forwards up the slope. As he neared the top, he called out to Clint. The boy looked up, and as an expression of fear took hold of his face, he disappeared over the crest of the hill.

“Clint!” Steve yelled again, panting desperately for breath as he reached the top. Clint was running down the other side, until suddenly he wasn’t and he was rolling down instead, over and over in an un-coordinated flop until he landed in a heap at the bottom. Even as Steve started to slowly pick his way down with a curse, Clint was climbing back onto his feet. “Clint wait!” He called out desperately as he struggled not to lose his own footing. “Please, you’re not in trouble!” But Clint either wasn’t listening or didn’t believe him. He stumbled away from the bottom of the slope, and with one hand clutching the other tightly, he took off. Thankfully, Steve had closed a lot of the distance, and this time, speedy as he might’ve been, Clint didn’t get very far before Steve caught up.

He reached out a hand and caught hold of Clint’s shoulder, trying to be firm without hurting him. Clint stumbled and fell, and Steve fell with him.

Tears streamed down the boy’s face as he tried to squirm out of Steve’s grasp, and Steve heard him whispering something to himself, but the sounds were so erratic around his heightened breathing that Steve couldn’t make out the words. After a few minutes of struggling, Clint let out an agonised cry and slumped into the ground, all the fight suddenly leaving him. He curled up around his injured arm – and _Jesus_ did Steve understand Tony’s reaction now – and cried.

Steve slowly let go of Clint’s shoulder, and started talking to him quietly, trying to calm him down. “It’s only me, Clint. It’s only me. You’re okay. Tony didn’t mean to shout, he was just panicked. Clint, you’re okay.” He murmured, and he gently placed a hand back on Clint’s shoulder, rubbing at the tense muscle there in what he hoped was a soothing manner. After a while in silence, Steve managed to make out words in Clint’s non-stop stream of whispers.

“I can’t go back, they’ll lock me up. They’ll hurt me. They’ll hurt me. I can’t go back. No, no, no I can’t go back. I want Barney. I’ll find Barney. He won’t let them take me. I don’t want to go to no bughouse. I’ll be good. I can be good. Please.”

Steve frowned, feeling sicker with every phrase that slipped past the boy’s lips.

“Clint, no one’s taking you anywhere.” Steve sighed sadly. His heart, though still pounding from his sprint, felt like it was being wrenched from his chest as he tried to comfort the quaking form in front of him. Clint continued as if he’d never spoken. Suddenly, Steve felt a stab of irrational anger and he grabbed Clint’s shoulder and yanked him so he was lying on his back, looking straight at Steve with what could only be fear.

“You. Are not. Going. _Anywhere!_ ” Steve growled. “So whatever the hell this is, you sit up, and you damn well tell me, because no one is going to any damn bughouse!” He sat back, anger suddenly gone, feeling slightly deflated.

Clint struggled to push himself up to a sitting position with his uninjured hand. His face was blotchy, and his chin was still wobbling slightly as he regarded Steve with wide, panicked eyes. With the setting sun cast over him, the boy’s eyes looked bluer than ever Steve had ever seen them.

“But he said! He said he’d-” Clint cried out.

“I don’t care what he said!” Steve bit out. “He was terrified, Clint! For Christ’s sake, there is a knife sticking out of your hand, and he apparently didn’t even know you’d injured yourself! He was scared, Clint, and he says dumb shit sometimes when he’s scared!”

For a few minutes, Clint just sat, crying, but not trying to run. Steve ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh.  He was about to speak again when Clint drew his knees up to his chest, looking absolutely miserable, and began to talk.

“He didn’t _look_ scared.” He mumbled, and Steve had to refrain from diving in with questions. “He looked angry.” Clint sniffed. “And all I could tell he was saying was swearing, and that he’d put me in a jacket, an’ that I belonged in an assy lamb!”

Steve had to resist the strange urge to burst out laughing. “A what?”

Clint faltered, looking uncertain. “An… assy lamb?” He swallowed nervously. “The place they lock people up when they’re retarded.”

Steve frowned. “You mean an asylum?”

Clint shrugged. “I guess.”

“Clint, _come on_ , you guess? What does that mean?”

Clint shrugged again, and Steve could see he was crying still. “I don’t _know!_ ” He wailed suddenly. “My father hit me one day and then I couldn’t hear everything. Barney said it would go away but it _didn’t_ , and now I have to look at what you say and you all _talk quick!_ Everyone talks quick and _I don’t know_ what they’re telling me and _he_ has a low voice so it’s harder and I’m _scared_ to look at him because he _hates_ me and he’s _always angry_ and angry people _hurt_ me so I don’t look then I _can’t_ see so I _don’t know_ what’s been said and then-”

“Woah, woah, Clint slow down.” Steve reached a hand out towards him, and rested it gently on his shoulder with a worried frown. When he looked up at him, blinking away tears, Steve continued. “Just, take a deep breath, okay? That’s better,” He soothed. “Just, tell me again, but slower.”

Clint let out a shaky breath and looked away from him. “I don’t remember it. Barney said I was three, and I broke something, so my father, he got his bottle of moonshine, and he whacked it.” Clint gestured with his uninjured arm, across the side of his face, near his ear. “I fell into something, Barney said, and since I can’t hear everything. I don’t remember being able to hear.” He ducked his head, fresh tears spilling over his cheeks. “He said it was ‘cause I’m retarded.”

Steve felt like the floor had dropped from under him. _How the hell had they not noticed he was deaf?_

“Clint, Jesus. I…” He stopped, his brain still not quite comprehending.

“It’s not like it’s not true.” Clint carried on as if Steve hadn’t spoken. “Everyone says so.” He sniffed again, hugging his knees closer to him, his injured arm cradled carefully in his lap. “I don’t mean to be bad. I just am, so I must be a retard.”

Anger flared in Steve’s chest. He fought to control his face as Clint carried on.

“I never meant to hurt anyone.” He all but whispered. Steve tensed. Bucky had ended up telling Sam at the end of a V.A. meeting about that rooftop confession, and Sam had told Steve the major parts of the story because he thought it was ‘important’. _They probably already knew he was deaf as well._ Steve thought glumly. “I just- I didn’t wanna go back. I knew if I went back he’d touch me, and make me touch him and I hated it. I knew by how mad he looked he’d probably cover my eyes and then-”

“ _What?!”_ Steve all but shrieked at him.

Clint looked up again. He swallowed, glancing around them nervously. “I knew he’d touch me, and make me touch him. An’ I knew he’d cover my eyes and when he did that he put something in my mouth, an’ he’d hold my mouth shut and it hurt. I begged him not to, but he did anyway. And he grabbed my mouth and told me to take it.” The boy shivered. “I didn’t want to take it.” He sobbed. “But the cop, he’d kick me if I moved, and when they’d done they’d uncover my eyes and then they’d kick me, like my father and trick and the swordsman and then Barney joined in sometimes and they always, lock me in the cellar with no food or nothing and leave me. I didn’t want to shoot them, but I was scared and I didn’t wanna go back. Trick and Jaq, they taught me how to shoot, so I knew what to do and they wouldn’t go away and, and-”

Steve lifted Clint onto his lap and hugged him as tightly as he dared without hurting the boy’s arm. After a second’s hesitation, Clint’s arm clutched tightly in his shirt, and he buried his face in the crook of Steve’s neck. He was shivering, Steve realised. He also realised that there were tears in his own eyes. _Crap,_ he thought as he gently shushed Clint. _We’re gonna have to get Phil in on this._

_“Steve! Clint!”_ Steve heard someone yelling from the park. “ _Clint_!” The voice called again. Bucky, he identified as he stood up, keeping a tight grip on Clint.

“Here!” He yelled back as he began picking a route back up the hill. Clint lifted his head, and Steve looked around so he could see Steve’s lips. “Bucky’s looking for us.”

“Steve!” Bucky shouted as he appeared at the top of the hill. He barely stopped before sprinting down to where Steve was still holding Clint. “Are you alright?” He asked, looking far more panicked than Steve liked.

“We’re good.” He said as he shifted Clint’s weight in his arms. “Well, not _good_ , but-”

Bucky clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “There’s an ambulance for him at the house.” Steve nodded and they walked back through the park, Clint finally still and silent in Steve’s arms.

* * *

The crew of the ambulance stood watching, arms folded across their chests. Steve sighed. “Bucky, Sam, Rhodey, I don’t _care_ who, but _someone_ go with him. We’ll follow with the kids.”

Tony looked at him in surprise. “Why don’t you go? I don’t mind bringing the kids myself-”

“I need to make a phone call.” Steve said bluntly. Tony nodded in silence.

With a frustrated sigh, Bucky climbed into the back of the ambulance. From the drive, they could hear him talking to Clint. The ambulance crew looked decidedly unhappy about this, but they climbed back into the ambulance and drove. Steve ushered Natasha into the car, Bruce and Thor quickly following. Tony shut the driver’s door with more force than strictly necessary and put the car into drive as the ambulance disappeared around the corner. Steve glanced through to the back of the car and fixed a glare on the kids.

“You guys be quiet. I’m calling Phil.” He explained.

“Don’t you dare send him away!”

Steve turned to look at Tony, utterly speechless. “Tony?” He blurted after a second of confusion. “I thought you didn’t want him anyway.”

Tony’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “We have never given up on a child. I’m not starting now.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot into his hair. “Okay.” He drew his phone and dialed.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Tony hissed.

“Calling Phil.” Steve answered sharply. “Hi, Phil, it’s me. So there’s been a, um, an incident with Clint.”

* * *

 Fear and despair crashed down on Phil as Steve told him they were heading for the hospital.

“Oh, god, what’s happened?” He asked, already gathering things he’d need and shoving them into his briefcase. As Steve began, he shrugged his suit jacket back on and sorted out his tie as he left his office.

“He said that?!” Phil asked, absolute horror filling his mind. _Shit, this changes things_. Phil ran through the corridor and hammered on his boss’ door. “Okay, I’m getting Fury, we’ll get- Because I have to bring Fury for something like this. It’s protocol Steve. I am aware of that. Yes. Steve-”

Fury appeared, piercing him with a glare that could kill. “Could I trouble you to leave my door on its hinge, Coulson?”

Phil lifted a hand in his direction. “Hang on, Steve. I’m gonna put you on to Fury you tell him what you told me.” He frowned. “No not all of it. The important bit.” Phil rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Which bit do you think I meant? You know what, just talk to him.” He shoved his mobile at Nick, who took it with a confused frown.

Phil moved past him into his office and grabbed Nick’s leather jacket and his own brief case and waited for him at the end of the corridor. Nick handed his phone back to him in silence.

“I’m driving.”

“Of course, sir.” Phil answered as he slid into the passenger seat of Nick’s car.

* * *

“You did well to leave the knife in.” The nurse said with a smile as she finished stitching Clint’s hand. The young boy was watching her in fascination. “Did your parents teach you first aid?” She asked. She reached around him and grabbed a bandage roll and unpackaged it expertly.

“No.” Clint answered. “Buck and Jacques taught me first aid. I needed it a lot after training and they got fed up of doing it for me.”

Bucky winced at the implied abuse Clint had suffered in the circus. The morphine they’d given him after Clint had admitted to being in pain had worked wonders on loosening his lips. Bucky knew there were child psychologists up and down the country who’d tried getting Clint to tell them about his life for weeks with fewer results than a few drops of morphine had managed to get out of him.

“It’s funny not being able to feel it.” Clint added suddenly. The nurse only paused slightly in her ministrations.

“Oh?” She asked, and Bucky didn’t miss the cautious glance thrown in his direction. Bucky only just managed to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands. Clint turned suddenly towards him.

“Could you feel it when they did your arm, Bucky?” His blue eyes were blown wide, but for once his face seemed… lighter, and innocent.

“Uh, no, kiddo, I passed out.” Bucky managed, trying to keep his tone light. The nurse turned towards him, frowning. “Army veteran.” He explained, taking his left hand out of his pocket and rolling up his jacket sleeve so she could see the dozens of metal plates that slotted together to make the surface of the prosthetic.

The nurse raised an eyebrow. “Most prosthetics are plastic.”

“Yeah, well.” Bucky sighed. “My friend Steve, he’s married to Tony Stark, so he got Tony to build this for me.”

“ _The_ Tony Stark?” She asked, a strand of dark hair falling over her face.

“Yeah, _the_ Tony Stark, his adoptive father.” Bucky replied a bit more sharply than he intended. “Steve is his other adoptive father.”

“And you taught him to do first aid on himself, without any pain relief!” She accused, jabbing a finger in Bucky’s direction.

“What?” Bucky felt his face paling. His mind was reeling. “Where on Earth did you pul-”

_Buck and Jacques taught me first aid. I needed it a lot after training and they got fed up of doing it for me._

Clint’s words echoed round his head. Bucky felt sick.

“Oh god, no.” He looked at the nurse, and hoped his face conveyed his honesty. “No, ma’am, I’m not that- I’m Buck- _y_. James, Bucky Barnes. He’s not talking about me.” The nurse continued to glare at him.

Clint began giggling behind them. The nurse turned to watch him, for the first time losing confidence in her conviction.

“Bucky wasn’t in the circus, silly!” Clint laughed. “ _Bucky_ in the circus!” Whatever images his drug-induced mind was creating, they seemed to delight Clint to no end. He was still laughing when Steve, Tony, two men in suits Bucky assumed were social workers and the other kids arrived, along with Sam and Rhodey.

One of the men in suits rushed to Clint’s side. “Clint! Are you alright? What happened?” He asked, crouching down to Clint’s level.

The boy merely giggled. “Phil, it’s so _funny_!” He managed between giggles. “They put an I.V. in me, and now my head feels fuzzy, but then they put stitches in and I couldn’t _feel it_! Then,” He had to break off to giggle. The suit, Phil, shared a look with the other social worker. “She thought Bucky was Buck and was in the circus!” This was followed by a bout of hysterics. Bucky wasn’t the only one biting back a grin. “Could you even _imagine_ Bucky in a circus?” Clint asked. “He’d _scowl_ and scare everyone away!” He laughed.

“Okay,” Phil sighed. He turned to face the nurse. “I assume his head feels fuzzy because he’s on morphine?”  The nurse nodded.

“Wait,” Tony said, edging forwards. “You gave him morphine while he has a concussion?”

“The amount of pain he admitted to being in merited it.” The nurse explained. She turned to Bucky. “I apologise for my earlier assumption.” She held out her hand. With a smile that came surprisingly easily, Bucky shook her hand. “I’ll go get the doctor; she can talk you through what we’ve done and what’s going to happen next.”

“Thank you.” Tony said calmly as she left.

* * *

After listening to several professionals’ opinions, Steve wanted to collapse from exhaustion. The overriding message was that Clint should be in hospital for observation overnight.

“He should be somewhere he feels comfortable, which isn’t here!” Bruce bit out at the last doctor’s suggestion.

“Bruce,” Tony sighed, though he looked like he personally agreed. “There’s got to be a compromise here.” He said, turning to the doctors. “It’s early afternoon still, how about you keep him under observation until the evening and we’ll pick him up then?”

Doctor Cho frowned in distaste. “Look, no offence or anything, but he should be in overnight. He’s got a pretty severe concussion for a child and he’s on a lot of pain medication.” She brushed a stray frond of hair away from her face. “Besides which, there are several things about your childcare we need to investigate.”

At that, Steve felt his patience, frayed rope that it had been, snap entirely. “Look, doctor.” He practically hissed. “We adopted the kid less than a month ago, and he’s still not really sure of us, which is understandable, given his background. So he was trying to do something for himself because he didn’t think it was okay to bother my husband with it. That’s not _our_ fault!” Steve realised he was shouting. He also realised he didn’t care. “This was a fucking accident! Those guys in there with him now are his social workers, they’ll tell you everything you need to know about how good we are at looking after kids, and if you don’t swallow that, ask these three kids that we’ve adopted! Go on, ask them!” He glared at the doctor, who looked remarkably stoic.

“Alright, taking your word that it was an accident, it doesn’t change the fact that-”

“We’ll wake him up every hour if he falls asleep. We’ll make sure he drinks regularly, we’ll make sure he’s eating.” Tony cut over her.

With a huff, the doctor replied. “Fine. I’ll check this with my superiors, but if his condition worsens in any way, I will hound you until all your kids are well out of your reach.” She turned smartly on her heel and walked away. The small gaggle of doctors that had been debating with them dispersed as she left.

“Assholes.” Bruce muttered, fists clenched. Thor and Natasha were watching Steve and Tony with smiles on their faces.

“Come on, they’ve had well more than five minutes with him.” Tony said and pushed the door to the room Clint was in open.

As they entered, Clint, who had evidently been climbing the window ledge, jumped and ran to Steve, catching his legs in an impossibly tight hug.

“Can we go home, now?” He asked, blue eyes still wide and dilated. With a pained sigh, Steve brushed a hand gently through Clint’s soft blonde hair. It didn’t escape his notice the way the boy tilted his head to one side slightly, so that Steve’s fingers didn’t brush over the left side of his scalp.

“Not yet, kiddo.” He sighed. “They want to keep you overnight,” At the terror-filled expression creeping onto the kid’s face, Steve continued in a rush. “But we talked to them, and they’re seeing about letting you come with us.” He smiled. Clint still looked scared. He latched his gaze onto Steve, and Steve half-imagined he could see all the horrific memories Clint had endured in his eyes.

“Don’t leave me.”

Steve’s heart cracked. “I don’t plan to.”


	6. Chapter 6

Clint almost descended into another panic that night. After the doctors had finally decided that they could bring Clint home with them, Tony walked into the kitchen with the intention of clearing up the blood and mess, only to find Sam and Pepper halfway through cooking something that smelt amazing, all signs of Clint’s accident gone.

Pepper turned and sent him a soft smile. “I got here as soon as I could. Rhodey told me what happened. He and Bucky are taking care of the stairs and Clint’s room.”

Tony felt stupidly grateful, and he began to choke up as he thanked her. “God this is such a mess. I should never have-”

Sam turned to him with a slight frown. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Tony. This isn’t on you.” He told him quietly.

Tony nodded, but he still felt horrifically guilty for the whole thing. “I just should’ve checked on him.” Sam squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. “And apparently he’s scared of me, and I don’t know? How did that happen?”

Pepper turned from the oven with a tray in her hand. Whatever she’d cooked, it was making Tony’s mouth water. “Why would he be scared of you?” She mused.

“You have always been a little apprehensive of him. Maybe’s he’s interpreted that distance you’ve maintained as hatred.” Sam said thoughtfully. “Given his past experience with adults, it’s entirely possible. He should get over it though, especially if you make an effort to interact with him, let him know you’re not a threat.”

Tony nodded. “I’ll ask terminator if there’s anything I could do to make it up to him.”

“Terminator?” Pepper asked with a disapproving frown. “That’s not a nice way to refer to Bucky.”

He snorted. “Bucky made the joke first. It just stuck.”

Pepper rolled her eyes with fond exasperation. “Why would Bucky know what Clint likes, anyway?”

Tony felt the slight lightness in his chest dissipate again. “Because Bucky’s the only one he’ll talk to. About anything like that, at least.”

Sam moved past him into the room with a general call that dinner was ready and he began setting the table. Pepper turned back to the side.

“Help me dish this up.” She instructed, and Tony complied without question. “Things’ll work out, Tony.” Pepper said quietly as Tony handed her a plate. “This… it won’t happen overnight, you know. And it’s going to be harder than the others. I mean, you had something in common with all of them, and they’re older than he is. They were better at picking up on your feelings.”

“Thanks Pepper.” Tony smiled, and they finished serving dinner in companionable silence. As Steve finished eating, he suggested lightly that the kids go to bed. Tony glanced at his watch and realised it was reaching nine thirty. Natasha yawned and nodded, moving off to get herself a drink, but Clint froze in his seat, his eyes fixed on Steve’s.

“No.”

Everyone in the room turned in shock to look at him. Clint’s lip was trembling and from across the table Tony could see tears welling in his eyes.

“Clint,” he said gently. “Kiddo, you need your sleep.”

Clint frowned at him. “I’m not sure what you said?” His words were slurred, and Tony figured he was still feeling the effects of the morphine. Tony gave a quick glance at Steve before he signed to Clint.

“But I’m not tired!” He replied.

Bucky tapped Clint’s hand and Clint turned to look at him expectantly. “If you don’t go get some sleep – which you do need, by the way, you’ve yawned twice in the last ten minutes – then I won’t ask Steve about the thing.”

Tony had no clue what ‘thing’ Bucky was referring to, but Clint’s face fell. A tear slipped down his cheek and he sank his teeth into his bottom lip. On his other side, Steve wrapped him in an awkward hug.

“Clint, honey, what’s wrong?” He asked, the worry obvious in his tone.

“I don’t wanna be left!” He blurted out. “Barney sent me to bed then left, and I ain’t never gonna see him again! I don’t wanna be left by you.”

Tony felt his heart break, because damn he sounded so distressed. And then he felt yet more guilt and looked away.

“No one’s gonna leave, Clint.” He muttered. The boy just hiccupped through his tears, blue eyes wide and nervous. Steve shared a questioning look with Tony. He shrugged.

“Well, you know, I’m pretty tired too.” Steve said as he stretched. “How about we both go up, hmm?” He offered a hand to Clint, who was watching Steve incredulously. “Tell you what, you could come sleep up in my bed. It’s so comfy.”

For a moment, it looked like Clint was going to argue some more, but then he yawned, slumped in his seat, and stood up. “Can I have a drink?”  

“Sure, go grab one.” Steve smiled at him. He waited until Clint had wondered into the kitchen before he bid the other kids goodnight. “You okay with this?” He asked as he hugged Tony.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll just stay down here tonight. Can’t see me doing much sleeping anyway.” He sighed.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” Steve whispered, and planted a kiss on Tony’s cheek. Tony smiled warmly back at him.

As Steve headed upstairs with all the kids in tow, Tony rested his head on the table.

“I should probably be going.” Bucky muttered as he stood up and began shrugging on his jacket. Tony lifted his head again.

“Bucky, wait.” Tony paused, trying to find the words he wanted. “I… what does Clint like?” Bucky’s eyebrow rose. “Apparently, one of the things he said to Steve today was that I scared him or something, I dunno.” He swallowed, and glanced away from Bucky’s frown. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to scare Clint, considering he’d been too scared of the kid to really spend time with him.

“I want to _do_ something for him, something he’ll appreciate, but. He doesn’t really talk to anyone else.”

Bucky looked across at Sam. “I thought you said he’d started to talk.”

Sam shifted slightly. “Steve said he had.” He glanced at Tony expectantly.

“He does talk, just…” Tony trailed off. He was hyper-aware of the scrutiny of all their family friends. “He doesn’t… It’s never about him. Trivial conversation, he’s starting to. As soon as anything remotely personal is asked he shuts down. I couldn’t tell you his favourite colour, even.”

“Purple.” Bucky said as he sat back down. “He likes purple. And dark blue.” He sighed. “I dunno, man. I mean, on what scale are you talking?”

“Anything.” Tony replied instantly. “I’m just spit balling, but I have no clue what the kid likes.”

Bucky hummed in consideration. “Well,” He picked up Steve’s discarded drink and swirled it around in the glass. “He does like archery.”

Rhodey almost choked on his drink. “What? How the hell did he get into that?”

Bucky merely shrugged. “Circus. He said the ringmaster took ‘em on to help with taking down and putting up tents and stuff you know? Then the swordsman that was there – who apparently also did shooting – saw him messing about one day with a sharpened twig he was using as a dart. He took him on, you know, started with throwing knives, then daggers, then swordplay, then he taught him archery and he was a natural. By the time the cops picked him up, he was the headlining act of their big top.” Bucky grinned and swallowed Steve’s drink. “The amazing Hawkeye, he said they called him.”

“So, I could get him a bow?” Tony mused.

“Yeah, I mean, you’d probably wanna wait a bit before you get him anything too amazing. Clint said they have to figure out the poundage or something, by his strength and height blah blah, so maybe wait a few years before you go for top range?”

Tony raised an eyebrow at him. “You realise, despite my modest lifestyle, I am loaded, right?” He grinned. “Come on, you’re not the CEO of Stark Industries and _poor_. I can afford to get him a top of the range bow every year until the day he dies and I wouldn’t even make a dent in my money.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced. “Well, it’s your money, Tony.”

“And I’m going to spend it on him.” Tony decided.

* * *

Bruce knocked on Clint’s door, but he didn’t wait for a response before walking in. Clint was facing away from him, hunched over the small desk. Bruce _hoped_ he was reading.

“Clint?” He called, but there was no response. With a small sigh, he crossed the room and tapped the desk to one side of the younger boy. He flinched wildly, as was his usual reaction to anything startling. With the knowledge that he was partially deaf, Bruce supposed the action was to be expected.

Clint looked up at him. “I didn’t hear.”

Bruce shook his head. “I know. Come on, it’s four thirty.”

Clint slumped in his seat and took a wobbly breath. “Okay, I’ll…” He gestured towards the door with one hand. “C-can I take some books?” He asked, looking back up at Bruce. Bruce had to bite the inside of his cheek not to grin. He personally thought the prank they were playing on Clint was maybe a little bit cruel, but that didn’t stop it being funny.

“Sure, take as many as you want.” He smiled before leaving and heading downstairs.

“He’s fallen for it.” Bruce told everyone quietly. “Just asked me if he could take some books.”

Thor groaned. “Is this really necessary?” He asked. “It might just upset him.” Bruce felt glad that he wasn’t the only one doubting the elaborate surprise set-up, but it was too late to cancel everything now.

Tony grinned. “It’s gonna be funny, though. I’m going to fi-”

Steve sent him a glare. “No filming.”

“Fine.” Tony huffed. At that moment, Clint appeared at the top of the stairs. Tony fixed everyone with a pointed glare as he made his way down, bag slung over his shoulders, books clutched in his hands. “Alright, kiddo, got everything?”

Clint nodded miserably and stood awkwardly between them all. “Thanks for having me.”

“You’re welcome Clint.” Steve said with a soft smile as he hugged Clint. “We’re so sorry this didn’t work out.” The boy nodded, looking so heartbroken that Tony almost felt bad.

Almost.

“Come on then, kiddo.” Tony said, and herded Clint gently towards the door. Clint was silent as Tony put his bag and books on the backseat and shut the passenger door on him. As they began to drive away, Tony glanced down at the kid next to him.

“Clint, you know, I’m really sorry it’s ended up like this.” Tony took a deep breath before continuing. “And, I never hated you. I just… thought I should tell you that.”

Clint just nodded in response. He was staring down at his lap, which was just as well, Tony mused as they pulled up in a gravel parking lot. Phil was leaning against his own car to the right of them. Clint barely looked up as he let himself out of the car and Tony retrieved his bag and handed it to Phil.

“Alright, Clint?” Phil asked lightly as he took the bag and put it in his trunk, alongside Bruce’s books. Again, Clint only nodded. He still hadn’t looked up, which meant he still hadn’t realised that he wasn’t standing outside an asylum. Tony was definitely biting back a grin.

“So,” He cleared his throat as he looked at Phil. “Is that it, or…?”

“No, I think there’s some paperwork you’ll have to do inside.” Phil said as he led Clint towards the door. Tony nodded and followed. Now Clint was in front of him, he didn’t bother hiding his grin.

Fury was waiting for them just inside the door. He gave a curt nod to Tony and handed Clint a duffel bag.

“That’s got all your stuff you’re gonna need in it, okay?” He said, but he’d already walked away when Clint nodded at him. “Tony, there’s just some paperwork you need to sign on and then we’re set.” Tony nodded and walked over, took the pen Fury was holding out and signed. Fury spent a few minutes checking over the form before he held it out to Clint.  “Why don’t you show off your new skills and read that, huh, Clint?”

Clint took the form and glanced over it briefly before beginning to read in an unsteady voice.

“This document certifies that Mr Steven G. Rogers and Dr Anthony E. Stark hereby agree to be the legal guardians to Mr Clinton F. Barton and cover all life related costs of the above-named minor individual until he slash she-with-a-line-through-it becomes of age.

“Please find overleaf the certific-” Clint paused and looked up at each adult, mouth hung open in shock. Hope lit up his features, and Tony thought he’d never seen his eyes so blue. “You’re adopting me?”

Tony grinned, as did Phil and Nick. At that moment, from the back of the carefully emptied counter, Steve and the other kids ran out and Clint’s grin looked positively painful. Then, an employee appeared, alongside Bucky and Sam, who helped fold away the fake wall Tony had paid them to put out to hide the actual contents of the shop.

When Clint’s eyes landed on the bows, Tony genuinely thought he was going to swoon. He looked back to Tony, muted longing in his eyes. For a moment, Tony just nodded, still grinning.

“Go on, pick one.” At Tony’s encouragement, Clint stepped towards the bows and reverently brushed his hands over one.

“Any of them?” He asked, his tone awed.

“Any of them.” Tony agreed.

Clint ran across the shop and wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist. “Thank you!”

Tony crouched down and hugged Clint right back. “Love you, Clint.” He whispered as he placed a kiss on his youngest son’s brow.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read, liked, and commented on this work, I'm so glad that so many people have liked it! There will be more at some point, but I don't know when that will be, so I hope you enjoy this epilogue in the meantime.

3 months later…

Tony could tell Clint was nervous as soon as he appeared. Tony didn’t usually do school-runs, he tended to get recognized too often, so when he did, he stuck to the far side of the playground, in the shade of a tree, near to the exits, so he could grab the kids and run for the safety of his car. Tony already hated Clint’s school, because there was no cover, and the teachers wouldn’t release the damn kids unless they could clearly see the parent.

Clint was standing just inside the doorway, his eyes scanning the playground. He glanced over at Tony once, then away; Tony grinned as a frown bloomed on his face and his eyes snapped back to Tony. He stayed in sheltered-ish spot he’d found while Clint flagged his teacher’s attention. When the boy pointed over the playground towards him, he raised one arm in a wave and thankfully – apparently this teacher had some wit, unlike Natasha’s teacher from the previous year – they let Clint out.

Rather than the excited, uncoordinated runs that other kids were executing, Clint took his time walking over to Tony, and he was immediately put on edge by it. Clint was usually uncontrollably excited on Thursdays, when Bucky would collect him after dinner and take him down to the nearest range and they’d spend a couple of hours shooting.

“What did you do, and how much will it cost me?” Tony joked as Clint finally neared him and he leaned down to take Clint’s bag off him.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Clint huffed as Tony grabbed his hand and they walked out of the playground onto the roadside. “The teacher made that stupid kid Tommy my science partner and he broke a beaker all over all my stuff and it was all wet and covered in glass.”

Tony sighed and looked skyward. He’d always hated teacher-picked science partners in school. But this was Clint, and Tony had a bad feeling he hadn’t heard the worst part yet. “So, what did you do?”

“Well, I was mad, so maybe I called him an idiot?” Clint winced as he looked up at Tony.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say, Clint.” The boy sighed.

“I know,” he drawled. “And I didn’t mean it, but he got it all over Bruce’s book I borrowed and I was angry. But anyway, the shitting ass tried to get his older brother to beat me up at recess,” Tony began silently praying for strength. “and he punched me, look!” Tony looked down as Clint turned his head to one side and pointed out a bruise blossoming along his jaw. He fished his car keys out of his pocket and unlocked it as they continued walking towards his car.

“Well, Clint, it wasn’t very good of you to call Tommy-”

“So maybe I kinda beat up his brother…?” Clint’s admission sounded more like a question. It took all of Tony’s willpower not to face-plant his car. “I know I shouldn’t have, but it was self-defense!”

After a moment, Tony shook his head clear and opened Clint’s door for him before walking around to the driver’s side. “And what have your teachers said?” He asked as he climbed in and fastened his seatbelt.

“They said to make sure it didn’t happen again, and that next time I should get a teacher.” Clint muttered sullenly.

“Right. So that’s what you do.” Tony told Clint sternly as he pulled out into the afternoon traffic.

“Even though it isn’t my fault Tommy’s an idiot who wrecks all my experiments.” The boy added under his breath.

Tony let out an exasperated sigh. “Clint, all kids break stuff, it doesn’t make him an idiot, and calling him one can be very hurtful.” He admonished.

“The only time I broke something I got hit with a belt. Didn’t break anything after that.” The boy retorted hotly. Tony’s insides squirmed with discomfort as he digested that tidbit of information about Clint’s upbringing. For a while, they stayed in silence.

“Am I in trouble?” He asked quietly as Tony pulled onto the driveway and stopped the car.

“Do you understand that what you said was hurtful?” Clint nodded. “And you understand that you shouldn’t have beaten someone up?”

“But he punched me first!” Clint blurted.

“Do you understand that you should have gone to a teacher rather than beat him up?” Tony asked again, frowning at Clint, who kicked at the dashboard with a pout. “Clint?”

With a sigh, Clint nodded.

“Right. Then I think you’d better hurry and do your homework and get ready to go shooting.” Clint’s eyes lit up at Tony’s words.

“Really?” He asked, eyes shining. “You’re not grounding me?” And suddenly Clint was back to his usual overly-energetic self.

“Nah, go on. You got a bruise for your trouble already. Get inside.” Tony decided with a sigh. Clint’s enthusiastic fist pump and run-skip-hop-thing to the front door was well worth letting him get away with that.

Tony left Clint’s schoolbag on the table, next to where Bruce was already hard at work. Steve was in the kitchen with Natasha, who was presenting something she’d no doubt made in food tech. It was, as her food tech projects usually were, burnt. Thor seemed engrossed in his phone, and next to him on the couch, Bucky was watching TV, Clint’s bow and quiver set in their case by his feet, alongside his own gun.

Tony couldn’t help but smile as he started prepping dinner, kissing Steve on his way. This was his _family_ , and it was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I will update the chapters daily (hopefully!).
> 
> This work will be the first part of a series.


End file.
